^'■"illiL,r 


THE  SUNSET,  TRAIL 


Vhc  Sunset  13rail 


By  ALFRED  HENRY  LEWIS 


Auther  of  "The  Boss,"  "The  President,"  "  Wolfville 
Days."  "Black  Lion  Inn,"  "  Peggy  O'Neal,"  etc. 


h 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 


A.   L.  BURT    COMPANY,  Publishers 
NEW  YORK 


/ 


Copyright,  1905 

BY 

A.  S.  BARNES  &  OX 


Published  April,  1905 

Secofid  Printing  July,  1905 

Tbird  Printing  January,  iyo6 

FofT'b  Printing  Juiy,  igc^ 


.'  I 


The  Crack  of  the  Winchesteb. 


Page  87. 


To 

William  Barclay  Masterson 

■This  Volume  Is  Inscribed  ' 

By  His  Friend 

I. The  Authob 


Ml,3563 


PRODUCTION. 

IT  was  in  my  thoughts,  as  I  wrote  these  chapters  and 
arranged  their  sequence,  to  fix  in  types  a  phase 
of  American  existence  that,  within  the  touch  of 
present  time,  has  passed  away.  The  West  has  witnessed 
more  changes  than  has  the  East.  The  common  im- 
pression, and  one  to  which  all  Americans  are  bred,  leaves 
paleface  Western  occupation  to  a  modem  day.  When- 
ever one's  thought  wanders  to  what  is  old  in  this  country 
one  inevitably  sets  his  face  towards  the  East. 

None  the  less,  this  feehng  of  an  Eastern  as  an  earlier 
settlement  is  error.  In  New  Mexico  and  Arizona,  while 
exploring  an  ancient  Spanish  church  or  considering 
some  palace  of  sun-dried  mud  with  a  sixteenth-century 
origin,  it  will  begin  to  press  upon  one  how  the  East, 
after  all,  is  but  the  younger  theatre  of  European  en- 
deavour in  this  continent.  Also,  an  odd  feeling  will  grow, 
as  one  reflects  that  moi'e  than  a  half  century  before 
Winthrop  and  Standish  and  Bradford  and  Alden  and 
those    other    stern    and    solemn    ones,    came    ashore    on 

Plymouth  Rock,   Santa  Fe  was  a  bustling  capital — a 

vil 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

centre  of  agriculture,  of  mining,  of  flocks  and  of  herds. 

St.  Augustine  is  said  to  be  the  first  founded  town  with- 
in the  frontiers  of  this  country,  as  the  same  are  made  and 
laid  to-day.  And  yet  it  is  in  warm  dispute,  with  a  deal 
to  tell  on  the  New  Mexican  side  of  the  question,  if  Santa 
Fe  be  not  the  age  equal  of  her  sister  of  the  Everglades. 
Certainly,  and  say  the  most  disappointing  thing  for 
Santa  Fe,  there  was  a  no  greater  space  than  two  or 
three  years  to  fall  between. 

Considered  as  regions,  Florida  versus  New  Mexico, 
the  latter  should  be  the  older.  In  its  settlement,  that 
stretch  lying  between  Santa  Fe  and  San  Francisco,  and 
south  to  the  Rio  Grande  and  the  now  North  Mexican 
line,  was  in  a  fairly  populous  and  flourishing  condition 
three  centuries  and  more  ago.  To  say  "New  Mexico'* 
or  "Arizona"  hath  a  far-off^  savage  sound,  and  yet  both 
"were  dominated  of  European  influences  and  polka-dotted 
■with  many  a  white  man's  town  long  years  before  Salem 
went  hanging  her  witches  or  Pocahontas  interfered  to 
save  the  life  of  Smith.  It  was  over  three  and  one-half 
centuries  ago  that  Coronado  ransacked  Colorado  and 
Kansas  for  those  "seven  cities"  and  the  gold  he  could  not 
find. 

In  1803  the  first  American  trading  expedition  broke 
across  the  plains  and  entered  Santa  Fe.  The  expedition 
was  planned  by  William  Morrison,  the  grandfather  of 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

that  Colonel  William  Morrison  who,  following' Civil  War, 
won  fame  as  a  House  leader,  and  proposed  to  reform  the 
tariff  by  horizontally  reducing  it.  Until  the  Morrison 
trade  invasion  of  New  Mexico,  the  West  in  its  European 
complexion  had  been  furnished  by  the  Spanish.  Also, 
about  this  time  the  English  and  Scotch,  with  the  Cana- 
dian French  to  aid  them,  came  pushing  southward  and 
westward  from  British  Columbia  in  a  search  for  furs. 

The  fur  trade  grew  apace.  Beavers  were  first  the 
purpose,  then  buffaloes,  with  such  peltry  folk  as  bears 
and  wolves  and  foxes  and  otters  and  muskrats  to  be  their 
incident.  For  fifty  years  the  beaver  was  the  great  source 
of  Western  wealth;  then  came  the  buffalo  to  roundly 
cover  twenty-five  years.  After  that,  the  cattle ;  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  the  railway  and  the  farm. 

If  one  were  to  catalogue  those  human  influences  that 
have  dealt  with  the  West,  the  count  in  its  procession 
would  run  somewhat  like  this:  There  was  the  Indian 
occupation — an  occupation  that  has  never  wholly  given 
way.  In  the  sixteenth  century,  say  in  1550,  came  the 
Spaniard  with  what  we  call  "civilisation"  and  the  Indians 
call  "devilry,"  to  colour  the  control,  and  hold  a  West's 
directing  rein,  for  two  hundred  and  seventy-five  years. 
Then  befell  the  English-speaking  invasion  from  the  sun- 
rise side  of  the  Mississippi.  There  was  a  beaver  day,  a 
buffalo  day ;  and,  covering  both  the  beaver  and  the  buf-» 


X  INTRODUCTION 

falo  days,  there  was  also  a  trader  da}^,  with  Its  Sants^ 
Fe  and  Oregon  trails. 

On  the  heels  of  all  these  came  the  cattle  day  and  the 
day  of  the  herds,  with  the  farm  day  slowly  dawning.  It 
is  with  that  latter  day,  the  cattle  day,  that  I  have  dealt. 
In  doing  this  I  have  seized  on  a  real  man  and,  in  its 
tragedy  at  least,  told  what  really  happened.  Speaking 
for  its  broader  lines,  this  book  is  true,  and  there  be 
scores  who  will  recognise  its  incidents. 

Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 

New  York  City,  February,  1905. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     How  It  Might  Have  Been  Different 1 

n.     That  Transaction  in   Ponies 33 

in.     Inez  OF  the  'DoBE  Walls 59 

IV.     The  Wild  Rose  of  the  Canadian 81 

V.     The  Strategy  OF   Mr.   Masterson 100 

VI.     The  Fatal  Gratitude  of  Mr.  Kelly 122 

VII.     Why  the  "Weekly  Planet"  Died 140 

VIII.     An  Invasion  of  Dodge 167 

IX.     The  Medicine  of  Lone  Wolf 199 

X.     The  Intuitions  of  Mr.  Allison 226 

XI.     How  True  Love  Ran  in  Dodge 252 

XII.     Diplomacy  in  Dodge 294 

XIII.  The  Rescue  of  Cimarron  Bill 317 

XIV.  The  Worries  of  Mr.  Holiday 339 

XV.     How  Mr.  Hickok  Went  Into  Cheyenne 359 

XVI.     The  Last  Visit  to  Dodge 380 


EHE  SUNSET!  TRAIL 


SuNdcX  X  l\jA.il<9 


Oonrtesr  of  Collies'b  Wsbk:  '^ 

HOW  IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  DIFFERENT. 

IS  baptismal  name  was  William  Barclay,  but  be- 
fore the  corn-coloured  pencilling  on  his  upper 
lip  had  foretold  the  coming  of  a  moustache, 
he  was  known  throughout  that  wide-fiung  region  lying 
between  the  Platte  and  the  Rio  Grande,  the  Missouri  and 
the  Mountains,  as  Bat.  This  honour  fell  to  the  boyish 
share  of  IVIr.  Masterson  because  his  quick  eye,  steady 
hand,  and  stealthy  foot  rendered  him  invincible  against 
bears  and  buffaloes  and  other  animals,  ferae  naturae, 
and  gray  oldsters  of  the  plains  were  thereby  reminded  of 
a  Batiste  Brown  who  had  been  celebrated  as  a  hunter  in 
the  faraway  heroic  days  of  Chouteau,  Sublette,  Bridger, 
and  St.  Vrain. 


2  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

There  is  no  such  season  as  boyhood  on  the  plains,  folk 
are  children  one  day,  men  the  next,  and  thus  it  befell  with 
Mr.  Masterson.  He  owned,  while  yet  his  cheek  was  as 
hairleso  as  an  egg,  primeval  gravities  and  silences,  and 
neither  asked  nor  answered  questions,  neither  took  nor 
gave  advice.  Among  his  companions  of  the  range  he 
gained  the  reputation  of  one  who  "attends  strictly  to 
his  own  business"  ;  and  this  contributed  to  his  vogue  and 
standing,  and  laid  the  bedplates  of  a  popular  confidence 
in  Mr.  Masterson. 

Also,  Mr.  Masterson,  being  few  of  years  and  not  with- 
out a  dash  of  the  artistic,  was  in  his  way  a  swell.  His 
spurs  were  of  wrought  steel  traced  with  gold,  the  hand- 
kerchief— an  arterial  red  for  hue — knotted  about  his 
brown  throat  was  silk,  not  cotton,  while  his  gray  som- 
brero had  been  enriched  with  a  bullion  band  of  braided 
gold  and  silver,  made  in  the  likeness  of  a  rattlesnake, 
fanged  and  ruby-eyed.  This  latter  device  cost  Mr. 
Masterson  the  price  of  one  hundred  buffalo  robes,  and 
existed  a  source  of  wondering  admiration  from  Dodge  to 
the  Pueblos. 

As  a  final  expression  of  dandyism,  ]Mr.  Masterson 
wore  a  narrow  crimson  sash  wound  twice  about  his  waist, 
the  fringed  ends  depending  gallantly  down  his  left  leg. 
The  sash  had  come  from  Mexico,  smuggled  in  with  a 
waggon  load  of  Chihuahua  hats,  and  when  Mr.  Masterson 


HOW  IT  MIGHT  HA  VE  BEEN  DIFFERENT    S 

donned  It,  being  privily  a-blusli  to  find  himself  so  garish, 
he  explained  the  same  as  something  wherewith  he  might 
hogtie  steers  when  in  the  course  of  duty  he  must  rope 
and  throw  them.  Doubtless  the  sash,  being  of  a  soft, 
reluctant  texture  and  calculated  to  tie  very  tight  into 
knots  that  would  not  slip,  was  of  the  precise  best  ma- 
terial with  which  to  hogtie  steers ;  but  since  Mr.  Master- 
son  never  wore  it  on  the  range  and  always  in  the  dance 
halls,  it  is  suspected  that  he  viewed  it  wholly  in  the  light 
of  a  decoration. 

Mr.  Masterson's  saddle,  as  exhibiting  still  further  his 
sumptuous  nature,  was  of  stamped  leather;  while  his 
war-bags  and  leggings  were  faced  with  dogskin,  the  long 
black  fell  warranted  to  shed  rain  like  a  tin  roof.  The 
one  thing  wanting  a  least  flourish  of  ornament  was  Mr. 
Masterson's  heavy,  eight-square  buffalo  gun — a  Sharp's 
50-calibre  rifle. 

And  yet  this  absence  of  embellishment  was  not  be- 
cause of  Mr.  Masterson's  want  of  respect  for  the 
weapon ;  rather  he  respected  it  too  much.  A  rifle  was 
a  serious  creature  in  the  eyes  of  IMr.  Masterson,  and 
not  to  be  regarded  as  jewelry;  to  mount  it  with  silver 
or  inlay  its  stock  with  gold  would  have  been  as  unbecom- 
ing as  to  encrust  a  prayer-book  with  diamonds.  Mr. 
Masterson's  rifle's  name  was  Marie;  and  when  abroad 
on  the  range  he  made  remarks  to  it,  and  took  it  into  his 


4  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

confidence,  apropos  of  events  which  transpired  as  part 
of  the  day's  work. 

When  Mr.  Dixon,  for  whom  IVIr.  Masterson  was  kill- 
ing buffaloes  along  the  Canadian,  told  that  young  gen- 
tleman how  his  visiting  sister  and  niece  would  pass  a  fort- 
night at  the  'Dobe  Walls,  the  better  to  realise  a  virgin 
wilderness  in  all  its  charms,  Mr.  Masterson  made  no  com- 
ment. Behind  his  wordlessness,  however,  Mr.  Masterson 
nourished  a  poor  opinion  of  tliis  social  movement. 
At  its  best,  the  'Dobe  Walls,  as  well  as  the  buffalo 
range  of  which  it  lived  at  once  the  centre  and  the  ragged 
flower,  was  rude  beyond  description,  and  by  no  means 
calculated — so  Mr.  Masterson  thought — to  dovetail  with 
the  tastes  of  ladies  fresh  from  Beacon  Hill.  Besides, 
Mr.  Masterson  was  not  satisfied  as  to  the  depth  and 
breadth  of  what  friendships  were  professed  by  certain 
Cheyennes,  who  hunted  buffaloes  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
the  Canadian,  for  their  paleface  brothers  and  sisters. 

Mr.  Masterson's  opinions  on  this  point  of  Cheyenne 
friendship  was  not  the  offspring  of  surmise.  Within 
the  month,  eight  Cheyennes,  supposed  by  the  authorities 
in  Washington  to  be  profoundly  peaceful,  had  come 
upon  him  while  busy  with  both  hands  husking  the  hide 
from  a  buffalo  bull.  Full  of  the  Washington  impres- 
sion of  a  Cheyenne  peace,  at  least  so  far  as  deeds  done 
of  daylight  and  on  the  surface  were  concerned,  Mr.  Mas- 


Told  Him  to  "Vamos. 


HOW  IT  MIGHT  HA  VE  BEEN  DIFFERENT    5 

terson  paid  no  mighty  heed  to  the  visitors.  Indeed,  he 
paid  none  at  all  until  one  of  them  caught  up  his  rifle 
from  the  grass,  and  smote  him  with  it  on  the  head.  The 
Chej'^enne,  cocking  the  gun  and  aiming  it,  told  him  in 
English  learned  at  Carlisle,  and,  with  epithets  learned 
at  the  agencies,  to  vamos  or  he'd  shoot  him  in  two.  With 
the  blood  running  down  his  face,  Mr.  Masterson  so  far 
accepted  the  Cheyenne  suggestion  as  to  back  slowly  from 
the  muzzle  of  the  rifle  until  he  reached  the  edge  of  a 
ravine,  upon  which  he  had  had  his  mind's  eye  from  the 
beginning.  Then  he  suddenly  vanished  out  of  harm's 
way. 

Once  in  the  ravine,  Mr.  Masterson  flew  for  his  camp, 
distant  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  Getting  a  second  rifle, 
Mr.  Masterson  bushwhacked  those  vivacious  Cheyennes 
at  the  mouth  of  Mitchell's  Canyon,  and  killed  four, 
among  them  the  violent  individual  who  had  so  smote  upon 
him  with  his  own  personal  gun.  The  lost  rifle,  which 
was  as  the  honour  of  Mr.  Masterson,  was  recovered ;  and 
inasmuch  as  the  four  scalps  were  worth  one  hundred  dol- 
lars  in  Dodge — for  which  amount  they  were  a  lien  upon 
funds  heaped  together  by  public  generosity  to  encourage 
the  collection  of  such  mementoes — it  might  be  said  that 
Mr.  Masterson  was  repaid  for  his  wound.  He  thought 
so,  and  in  the  language  of  diplomacy  regarded  the  inci- 
dent as  closed. 


6  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

For  all  that,  the  business  was  so  frankly  hostile  in  Its 
transaction  that  IMr.  Masterson,  young  of  years  yet  ripe 
of  Western  wisdom,  went  more  than  half  convinced  that 
the  Panhandle,  at  the  time  when  Mr.  Dixon  decided  to 
have  his  fair  relatives  pay  it  a  visit,  did  not  offer  those 
conditions  of  a  civilised  safe  refinement  for  which  ladies 
of  culture  would  look  as  their  due.  Mr.  Masterson  was 
right.  Mr.  Dixon's  approval  of  his  sister  and  her 
daughter  in  their  descent  upon  the  'Dobe  Walls  was 
weakly  foolish.  Still,  neither  Mr.  Masterson  nor  any 
one  else  felt  free  to  show  this  truth  to  Mr.  Dixon,  and 
preparations  for  the  tender  invasion  went  briskly  for- 
ward. 

As  Mr.  Masterson  was  buying  cartridges  in  the  out- 
fitting store,  which  emporium  was  one  of  the  mud  struc- 
tures that  constituted  the  'Dobe  Walls,  he  observed 
that  Mr.  Wright  was  clearing  away  the  furniture  from 
the  office,  this  latter  being  a  small  room  to  the  rear  of 
the  store. 

*'Going  to  give  it  to  Billy  Dixon's  sister  and  her  girl,'* 
I  explained  Mr.  Wright. 

*'When  do  they  hit  camp.?"  asked  Mr.  Masterson, 
mildly  curious. 

"Day  after  to-morrow,  I  reckon ;  they're  coming  over 
in  a  buckboard.  Billy  says  there's  a  French  party,  a 
Count  or  something,  who  is  coming  with  them.     It  looks 


HOW  IT  MIGHT  HA  VE  BEEN  DIFFERENT    7 

like  he's  going  to  marry  Billy's  niece.  If  he  shows  up, 
he'll  have  to  bunk  In  with  you  buffalo  killers  over  in 
Hanrahan's  saloon." 

"Just  so  he  don't  talk  French  to  us,"  said  Mr.  Mas- 
terson,  "I  won't  care.     I've  put  up  with  Mexican  and.' 
Cheyenne,  but  I  draw  the  line  at  French."  f 

There  were  a  score  of  men  at  the  'Dobe  Walls,  and 
Ruth  Pemberton  confessed  to  herself  that  Mr.  Master- 
son  was  the  Admirable  Crichton  of  the  array.  She  se- 
cretly admired  his  powerful  shoulders,  and  compared 
him — graceful  and  limber  and  lithe  as  a  mountain  lion — 
with  the  tubby  Count  Banti  to  that  patrician's  disadvan- 
tage. Also,  Mr.  Masterson's  hands  and  feet  were 
smaller  than  those  of  Count  Banti. 

Ruth  Pemberton  and  Count  Banti  made  brief  saddle 
excursions  up  and  down  the  banks  of  the  Canadian.  Mr. 
Wright,  using  sundry  ingenious  devices  to  that  end,  had 
trained  one  of  the  more  sedate  of  the  'Dobe  Walls'  ponies 
to  carry  a  lady  without  going  insane.  The  training  was 
successful,  and  the  bronco  thus  taught  to  defy  the  dread 
mysteries  of  skirts  and  sidesaddle,  had  been  presented  to 
Ruth  Pemberton.  While  Ruth  Pemberton  and  Count 
Banti  rode  abroad,  Madam  Pemberton  uplifted  herself 
with  Greorge  Eliot's  novels,  and  the  sermons  of  Theo- 
dore Parker. 


8  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Ruth  Pemberton  and  her  noble  escort  never  traveleC* 
far  from  camp,  for  Mr.  Wright  had  convinced  them 
that  Cheyennes  were  not  to  be  trusted.  The  several 
specimens  of  this  interesting  sept  whom  they  saw  about 
the  'Dobe  Walls,  trading  robes  for  calico  and  cartridges, 
served  by  their  appearance  to  confirm  the  warnings  of 
Mr.  Wright. 

Wlien  not  abroad  in  the  saddle,  Ruth  Pemberton  de- 
veloped a  surprising  passion  to  know  intimately  the 
West  and  its  methods,  rude  and  rough.  She  asked  Mr. 
Masterson  if  she  might  go  to  school  to  him  in  this  study 
60  near  her  pretty  heart.  That  young  gentleman,  look- 
ing innocently  into  her  slumberous  brown  eyes,  said 
"Yes"  directly.  Or  rather  Mr.  Masterson,  lapsing  into 
the  Panhandle  idiom,  said, 
"Shore!" 

Being  thus  permitted,  Ruth  Pemberton,  when  Mr. 
Masterson  gallopped  in  from  his  bufiPalo  killing  and  the 
Mexican  skinners  had  brought  home  the  hides  in  a 
waggon,  would  repair  to  the  curing  grounds,  the  latter 
being  a  flat,  grassy  stretch  within  two  hundred  yards  of 
Mr.  Wright's  store.  Once  there,  she  looked  on  while 
Mr.  Masterson  pegged  out  the  green  hides.  It  inter- 
ested her  to  see  him  sprinkle  them,  and  the  nearby  grass, 
with  poisoned  water  to  keep  off  hidebugs.  The  hidebug, 
according  to  Mr.  Masterson,  must  have  been  an  insect 


HOW  IT  MIGHT  HA VE  BEEN  DIFFERENT   9 

cousin  of  the  buffalo,  for  he  came  and  went  with  the 
robe-hunters,  and  lived  but  to  spoil  hides  with  the  holes 
that  he  bored  in  them. 

Ruth  Peraberton  asked  Mr.  Masterson  questions,  to 
which  he  replied  in  one  syllable.  Also  she  did  not  pay 
sufficient  attention  to  Count  Banti — giving  her  whole 
bright-eyed  time  to  Mr.  Masterson.  Whereat  Count 
Banti  sulked;  and  presently  deserting  Ruth  Pemberton 
he  withdrew  to  Mr.  Hanrahan's  saloon,  where  he  was 
taught  draw-poker  to  his  detriment.  Count  Banti, 
when  he  left  Ruth  Pemberton,  expected  that  she  would 
call  him  back;  she  did  not,  and  the  oversight  made  him 
savage. 

One  morning,  while  they  were  riding  among  the  river- 
side cottonwoods.  Count  Banti  became  hysterical  in  his 
reproaches  ;  he  averred  that  Ruth  Pemberton  tortured  in 
order  to  try  his  love.  Proceeding  to  extremes,  he  said 
that,  should  she  drive  him  desperate,  hei  would  destroy 
Mr.  Masterson.  At  this,  Ruth  Pemberton's  rice-white 
teeth  showed  between  roseleaf  lips  ;  she  smiled  in  half  ad- 
miration upon  Count  Banti. 

"Oh!"  thought  Ruth  Pemberton,  "if  only  he  would 
kill  somebody  I  might  love  him  from  my  heart !" 

The  soul  of  Ruth  Pemberton  of  Beacon  Hill  and  Vas- 
sar,  having  been  west  of  the  Missouri  one  month  and  at 
the  'Dobe  Walls  two  days,  was  slipping  into  savagery — 


10  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

BO  friendly  is  retrogression,  so  easy  comes  reversion  to 
type !  She  had  supposed  she  loved  Count  Banti ;  and 
here  was  her  soul  going  out  to  Mr.  Masterson !  How 
she  dwelt  upon  him,  when,  bronzed  of  brow,  cool  of  eye, 
alert,  indomitable,  he  rode  in  from  the  day's  kill !  The 
rattle  of  his  spurs  as  he  swung  from  the  saddle  was  like 
a  tune  of  music !  I 

Not  that  Ruth  Pemberton  wore  these  thoughts  on  her 
face.  She  hid  them  from  others,  she  even  concealed 
them  from  herself.  Had  one  told  her  that  she  was  be- 
ginning to  love  Mr.  Masterson,  she  would  have  stared. 
Count  Banti  himself  never  thought  of  so  hideous  a  pos- 
sibility;  his  jealous  petulance  arose  solely  from  her  calm 
neglect  of  himself.  Rutli  Pemberton  asked  Mr.  Master- 
son  how  old  he  was,  and  it  pleased  her  to  hear  that  he 
was  several  months  her  superior. 

Civilisation  is  a  disguise,  and  in  travel  one  loses  one's 
mask.  One's  nature  comes  out  and  basks  openly  in  new 
suns.  This  is  so  true  that  the  West,  when  a  compliment 
is  intended,  says  of  a  man :  *'He'll  do  to  cross  the  plains 
with."  What  the  West  means  is  that  on  such  an  expedi- 
tion, what  is  treacherous  or  selfish  or  cowardly  in  a  man 
will  appear.  Wherefore,  to  say  of  one  that  he  will  do 
to  cross  the  plains  with,  is  a  most  emphatic  declaration 
that  the  one  thus  exalted  is  unmarked  of  vices. 

Ruth  Pemberton,  who  on  Beacon  Hill  would  have  paled 


HOW  IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  DIFFERENT  11 

at  a  pin-prick  and  the  red  bead  of  blood  it  provoked,  now- 
thought  kindly  of  mere  slaughter,  and  insisted  on  riding 
ten  miles  with  Mr.  Masterson  to  the  buffalo  grounds  to 
witness  the  day's  work. 

"But,  my  child !"  cried  Madam  Pemberton. 

"It's  the  only  chance,  mamma,  I'll  ever  have  to  see  a 
buffalo  killed." 

Madam  Pemberton  was  not  a  deep  mind,  but  exceeding 
shallow;  to  say  that  any  chance  was  an  only  chance 
struck  her  as  a  reason  for  embracing  it. 

Ruth  Pemberton  was  to  journey  to  the  buffalo  grounds 
in  the  buckboard ;  Count  Banti  might  accompany  her,  a 
Mexican  would  drive.  Mr.  Masterson,  when  told  of  the 
good  company  he  would  have  on  his  next  day's  hunt, 
made  no  objection.  To  the  direct  question  as  to  whether 
the  country  were  possible  for  buckboards,  he  said  it 
was. 

"What  do  you  think  yourself.  Bob.'*"  asked  Mr.  Mas- 
terson, when  that  evening  he  met  Mr.  Wright  in  Mr. 
Hanrahan's  bar,  and  they  discussed  this  feminine  eager- 
ness to  see  dead  buffaloes.  "If  we  cross  up  with  a  bunch 
of  Cheyennes,  there  may  be  trouble.  It's  a  chance  they'd 
try  to  capture  the  girl.  Besides,  they've  got  it  in  for 
me  about  that  hair  on  my  bridle.'* 

*'There's  no  Cheyennes  about,"  said  Mr.  Wright. 
"When  they  drift  within  twenty  miles  of  us,  they  are 


12  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

sure  to  sTiow  np  at  the  store,  and  I  haven't  seen  an  Indian 
for  two  days." 

Count  Banti  took  a  Winchester  rifle  with  him.  There 
were  two  seats  in  the  buckboard;  Ruth  Pemberton  and 
Count  Banti  occupied  the  rear  seat,  the  front  seat  being 
given  over  to  the  IMexican,  and  a  basket  flowing  with  a 
refection  prepared  by  Mr.  Hanrahan's  darky  cook.  Mr. 
]\Iasterson,  on  liis  buckskin  pony,  Houston,  rode  by  Ruth 
Pemberton's  side  of  the  buckboard.  Aladam  Pemberton 
remained  behind  with  The  Mill  on  the  Floss. 

The  expedition  skirted  the  suburbs  of  a  prairie  dog 
village,  and  the  shrill  citizens  were  set  a-flutter,  or  pre- 
tended to  be,  and  dived  into  their  houses.  The  polite 
diminutive  owls,  the  prairie  dogs'  companions,  stood 
their  ground  and  made  obeisances.  Ruth  Pemberton's 
cheek  flushed  with  an  odd  interest  as  she  gazed  at  the 
prairie  dogs  and  the  little  polite  ground  owls. 

Off  to  one  side  a  dozen  coyotes  loafed  along,  not  unlike 
a  dozen  loafing  dogs,  keeping  abreast  of  the  buckboard. 
Ruth  Pemberton  pointed  to  them : 

"Isn't  it  strange,"  she  asked,  "that  they  should  ac- 
company us  .^" 

There  was  the  emphasis  of  a  half  alarm  in  her  tones ;  a 
coyote  was  not,  to  her  eyes,  without  formidable  charac- 
teristics.    Mr.  Masterson  explained. 

*'They  go  with  us  to  the  kill.     When  we  leave,  there 


HOW  IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  DIFFERENT  13 

will  be  a  battle  royal  between  them  and  the  buzzards  for 
the  beef." 

Mr.  Masterson  pushed  forward  to  show  the  buckboard 
Mexican  his  way  across  a  piece  of  broken  ground. 
.;  Count  Banti  took  note  of  the  parted  lips,  and  that  soft 
-sparkle  of  the  brown  eyes,  as  Ruth  Pemborton  followed 
him  with  her  glances.  Count  Banti  made  no  criticism  of 
these  dulcet  phenomena ;  he  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman 
and  she  too  much  of  an  heiress. 

Count  Banti,  moved  of  a  purpose  to  recall  Ruth  Pem- 
berton  from  her  train  of  fancy,  did  say  that  since  a 
waggon,  with  the  skinners,  must  go  and  come  every  day 
to  bring  in  the  buffalo  hides,  he  was  surprised  that  Mr. 
JMasterson  didn't  ride  in  that  waggon.  It  was  super- 
fluous, nay  foolish,  to  saddle  a  pony  under  such  waggon 
circumstances. 

Tliis  idiotic  conversation  earned  the  commentator  on 
buffalo  hunters  and  their  ways  immediate  grief.  Ruth 
Pemberton  wheeled  upon  Count  Banti  like  a  little  lioness, 
that  is,  a  little  lioness  subdued  of  Vassar  and  Beacon 
Hill.  Ruth  Pemberton  said  that  she  had  never  been 
treated  to  a  more  preposterous  remark !  It  was  unwor- 
thy Count  Banti!  Mr.  Masterson  in  a  waggon!  One 
might  as  easily  conceive  of  Sir  Launcelot  or  Richard  the 
Lion  Heart  in  a  waggon. 

When  Mr.  Masterson  returned  to  the  buckboard.  Ruth 


14  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Pemberton  deftly  lost  her  handkerchief  overboard.  Mr. 
Masterson  brought  Houston  to  the  right  about,  and  rid- 
ing back  stooped  from  the  saddle  and  swept  up  the  scrap 
of  cambric  from  the  short  grass. 

"Because  you  are  so  good,"  said  Ruth  Pemberton, 
with  a  smile,  "you  may  keep  it  for  your  reward." 

Count  Banti  ground  his  teeth ;  he  expected  that  Mr. 
Masterson  would  bind  the  sweet  trophy  in  his  sombrero. 
Count  Banti  gasped ;  instead  of  tucking  the  dainty  guer- 
don behind  that  gold  and  silver  rattlesnake,  the  favoured 
dull  one  continued  to  offer  it  to  Ruth  Pemberton. 

"I've  no  place  for  it,"  said  Mr.  Masterson;  "I'd 
lose  it." 

Ruth  Pemberton's  brow  was  red  as  she  received  her 
property ;  for  one  wrathful  moment  a  flame  showed  in 
the  brown  eye  like  a  fire  in  a  forest.  Mr.  Masterson's 
own  eye  was  as  guileless  as  an  antelope's.  Was  he  a 
fool.'*  Was  he  deriding  her.?  Ruth  Pemberton  decided 
that  he  was  merely  a  wliite  Indian.  She  appeased  her 
vanity  by  turning  her  shoulder  on  the  criminal  and  giv- 
ing her  conversation  to  Count  Banti.  Under  these  di- 
rect rays  of  the  sun,  our  Frenchman's  noble  soul  ex- 
panded like  a  flower ;  as  the  fruit  of  that  blossoming  he 
began  to  brag  like  a  Sioux. 

Having  caught  some  glint  of  the  lady's  spirit,  Count 
Banti  told  of  adventures  in  India  and  Africa.     He  was 


HOW  IT  MIGHT  HA  VE  BEEN  DIFFERENT  1 5 

a  hero;  he  had  haunted  water-holes  by  night  and  killed 
black-maned  lions ;  he  had  stalked  tigers  on  foot ;  he  had 
butchered  Zulus  who,  moved  of  a  tropical  venom,  assailed 
him  with  battle  axes. 

Count  Banti,  pressing  forward,  set  forth  that  he  had 
been  sustained  as  he  crossed  the  Atlantic  by  a  hope 
that  he  might  war  with  America's  red  natives.  Alas, 
they  were  broken  and  cowed;  their  spirit  had  been 
beaten  down!  He  must  return  wrapped  in  disappoint- 
ment. 

Still — and  now  Count  Banti  became  tender — it  had 
been  the  most  fortunate  journey  of  his  career.  If  not 
Mars  then  Venus!  Count  Banti  had  found  the  most 
lovely  and  most  lovable  woman  in  the  world!  And,  by 
the  way,  would  Ruth  Pemberton  make  Count  Banti  de- 
lirious with  joy  by  presenting  him  the  handkerchief 
which  the  aborigine  on  the  pony  had  had  neither  the  wit 
nor  the  gentle  fineness  to  accept  ? 

For  reply,  Ruth  Pemberton  furtively  wadded  the  poor 
rejected  cambric  into  a  ball  about  the  size  of  a  buckshot, 
and  dropped  it  overboard  again.  And,  because  neither 
Mr.  Masterson  nor  Count  Banti  saw  its  fall,  there  it  lies 
among  the  buffalo  grasses  on  the  flat  banks  of  the  Cana- 
dian to  this  day. 

Count  Banti  repeated  his  request  and  backed  it  with  a 
sigh.     Thereupon  Ruth  Pemberton  opened  both  small 


16  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

hands  to  show  how  that  desirable  cambric  had  disap- 
peared. Count  Banti  made  rueful  eyes  rearward  as 
though  contemplating  a  search. 

Mr.  Masterson  halted  the  buckboard ;  they  had  arrived 
witliin  a  mile  of  the  buffaloes  ;  he  pointed  where  hundreds 
of  them  were  grazing  or  reposing  about  the  base  of  a 
gently  sloping  hill.  The  heavy  dust-coloured  creatures 
looked  like  farm  cattle  to  the  untaught  Ruth  Pem- 
berton. 

There  was  a  bowl-like  depression  a  few  yards  from 
where  the  buckboard  came  to  a  stop.  It  was  grassed 
and  regular,  and  one  might  have  imagined  that  it  had 
been  shaped  and  sodded  by  a  gardener.  Mr.  IMasterson. 
defined  it  as  a  buffalo  wallow ;  he  tried  to  make  clear  how, 
pivoting  on  one  horn,  a  buffalo  bull,  shoulder  to  the 
ground,  had  excavated  the  cup-fashioned  hollow  they 
beheld. 

While  the  Mexican  was  slipping  free  the  team's  traces, 
and  making  the  few  camp  arrangements  required  for 
their  stay.  Count  Banti  began  a  lively  talk  with  Mr. 
Masterson. 

How  long  would  it  take  Mr.  Masterson  to  complete 
his  day's  kill? 

Mr.  Masterson,  it  seems,  would  kill  thirty  buffaloes; 
that  would  take  an  hour. 

And  then  they  would  return? 


HOW  IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  DIFFERENT  17 

Yes ;  or  if  the  visitors  tired,  they  might  hook  up  and 
start  at  any  moment.  It  was  not  worth  while  to  sit 
through  the  slaughter  of  tliirty  buffaloes.  The  killing 
of  one  would  be  as  the  killing  of  another ;  to  see  the  first 
was  to  see  all. 

Ruth  Pemberton  interposed;  she  would  wait  and  re- 
turn with  Mr.  Masterson. 

Count  Banti  said  he  could  see  that  killing  buffaloes 
was  slow,  insipid  sport.  Now  there  might  be  a  gallant 
thrill  in  fighting  Indians — painted  and  perilous  !  Count 
Banti  would  have  summoned  up  an  interest  for  Indians. 
Had  Mr.  Masterson  ever  slain  an  Indian.''  Probably 
not ;  Mr.  Masterson  was  a  young  man. 

Mr.  Masterson  bent  a  cold  eye  upon  Count  Banti. 
Saying  never  a  word,  he  sauntered  over  to  Houston, 
and  began  twisting  a  pair  of  rawhide  hopples  about 
his  fetlocks,  for  Mr.  Masterson,  like  all  profess 
sional  buffalo  hunters,  killed  liis  game  on  foot.  As 
Count  Banti  was  ruffling  over  Mr.  Masterson's  want 
of  courtesy,  the  Mexican  plucked  him  by  the 
sleeve. 

*'See!"  said  the  Mexican,  pointing  to  the  four  braids 
of  black  hair  hanging  from  Mr.  Masterson's  bridle. 
"Cheyenne  skelps ;  four!"  And  the  Mexican  held  up 
four  fingers. 

"Scalps!"     returned     Count     Banti,    the    burgundy 


18  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

colour  deserting  his  heavy  face.  "Where  did  he  get 
them?" 

"Killed  'em  here — anywhere!"  vouchsafed  the  Mex- 
ican, waving  a  vague  paw.  "Killed  'em  twelve  weeks 
ago — mebby  eight — no.'"' 

What  Count  Banti  might  have  thought  concerning 
the  sinister  character  of  the  region  into  which  he  had 
stumbled,  he  was  given  no  chance  to  divulge,  for  Mr. 
Masterson  came  up,  rifle  in  hand,  and  speaking  to  Ruth 
Pemberton,  said: 

"Make  yourself  comfortable ;  you  will  be  able  to  follow 
all  that  goes  on,  should  you  be  interested  in  it,  from  the 
buckboard.  You've  brought  a  pair  of  field  glasses,  I 
see.  Lucky  we're  down  the  wind !  I  can  go  straight  to 
them." 

As  the  ground  between  him  and  the  buffaloes  on  the 
slope  lay  flat  and  open,  with  not  so  much  as  a  bush  to 
act  as  a  screen,  Mr.  Masterson's  remark  about  going 
straight  to  his  quarry  appeared  a  bit  optimistic.  How- 
ever, Mr.  Masterson  did  not  think  so,  but  seemed  the 
sublimation  of  certainty ;  he  started  ofl^  at  a  slow,  care- 
less walk  directly  towards  the  herd. 

Mr.  Masterson  had  covered  half  the  distance,  that  is 
to  say,  he  had  approached  within  a  half  mile  of  his  game, 
before  the  buff*aloes  displayed  a  least  excitement.  When 
he  had  travelled  thus  far,  however,  those  nearest  began 


HOW  IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  DIFFERENT  19 

to  exhibit  a  slow,  angrj  alarm.  They  would  paw  the 
grass  and  toss  a  threatening  horn ;  at  times  one  would 
throw  up  his  nose  and  sniff  the  air.  The  wind  being 
from  the  buffaloes  to  Mr.  Masterson,  these  nose  experi- 
ments went  without  reward. 

Yielding  to  the  restless  timidity  of  the  perturbed  ones, 
who  if  set  running  would  infallibly  stampede  the  herd, 
Mr.  Masterson  threjv  himself  on  his  face  and  began  to 
creep.  His  brown  right  hand  gripped  the  stock  of  his 
rifle,  and  he  dragged  it  over  the  grass,  muzzle  to  the 
rear.  Also,  he  was  careful  to  keep  his  face  hidden  from 
the  buffaloes  behind  the  wide  brim  of  his  sombrero. 

The  herd's  interest  was  sensibly  abated  when  Mr. 
Masterson  forsook  the  perpendicular.  So  long  as  they 
were  granted  no  terrifying  glimpses  of  his  face,  the 
buffaloes  would  believe  him  some  novel  form  of  wolf,  and 
nobody  to  fly  from.  Acting  upon  this  wolf  theory,  they 
watched  the  creeping  Mr.  Masterson  curiously ;  they 
stood  their  ground,  and  some  even  walked  Inwards  him 
in  a  threatening  mood,  disposed  to  bully. 

As  Mr.  Masterson,  eyes  to  the  grass,  crept  slowly  V 
forward,  a  dry  "Bzz-z-z-z-z !"  broke  on  his  ear  from  a 
little  distance  in  advance.  Cautiously  he  lifted  his  eyes  ; 
the  rattlesnake  lay,  coiled  and  open-mouthed,  in  his  path. 
Mr.  Masterson  pushed  the  Sharp's  towards  the  reptile; 
at  that  it  uncoiled  and  crawled  aside. 


20  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

For  twenty  minutes  Mr.  Masterson  continued  his  slow, 
creeping  advance.  When  he  was  within  four  hundred 
yards  of  the  herd  lie  rose  on  one  knee.  There  was  a 
big  bull,  evidently  an  individual  of  consequence,  who, 
broadside  on,  stood  furthest  up  the  wind.  Deliberately 
and  without  excitement,  the  Sharp's  came  to  Mr.  Master- 
son's  shoulder  and  his  steady  eye  brought  the  sights  to 
bear  upon  a  spot  twelve  inches  square,  just  behind  the 
foreshoulder. 

For  the  sliver  of  a  second  Mr.  Masterson  hung  on  the 
aim;  then  the  heavy  buffalo  gun,  burning  one  hundred 
and  twenty  grains  of  powder  and  throwing  a  bullet  eight 
to  the  pound,  roared,  and  the  bull  leaped  heavily  for- 
ward, shot  through  the  lungs.  With  forefeet  spread 
wide,  blood  pumping  from  both  nostrils,  the  buffalo 
fought  desperately  for  breath  and  for  strength  to  stand. 
The  battle  was  against  him ;  he  staggered,  caught  liim- 
self,  tottered,  stumbled,  and  then  with  a  sigh  of  despair 
sank  forward  on  his  knees  to  roll  at  last  upon  his  side — 
dead. 

At  the  roar  of  the  buffalo  gun,  the  herd,  fear  at  their 
hearts'  roots,  began  to  run.  Instantly  a  change  came 
over  them.  The  dying  bull  was  to  windward  gushing 
blood,  and  the  scent  of  that  blood  swept  down  upon  them 
in  a  kind  of  madness.  Their  wits  forsook  them;  they 
forgot  their   peril  in  the   blood-frenzy  that   possessed 


HOW  IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  DIFFEREXT  21 

them,  and  charged  ferociously  upon  their  dying  com- 
rade. When  he  fell,  they  gored  him  with  crazy  horns — 
a  herd  of  humped,  four-legged,  shaggy,  senseless,  bel- 
lowing limatics ! 

"Bang !"  from  the  big  buffalo  gun,  and  another  bull 
stood  bleeding  out  his  life.  The  herd,  wild  and  frantic, 
fell  upon  him. 

"Bang !"  spoke  the  buffalo  gun ;  a  third,  shot  through 
and  through,  became  the  object  of  the  herd's  crazy  rage. 

Killing  always  to  windward,  Mr.  Masterson  might 
have  stood  in  his  tracks  and  slain  a  dozen  score ;  the  scent 
of  the  new  blood  would  hold  the  fury-bitten  buffaloes 
like  a  spell. 

Knowing  this  to  be  the  nature  of  buffaloes,  Mr.  Mas- 
terson felt  profound  surprise  when  after  his  third  fire, 
and  while  still  the  last  stricken  bleeding  buffalo  was  on 
his  feet,  the  whole  band  seemed  suddenly  restored  to  their 
senses,  and  went  lumbering  off  at  a  right  angle. 

"Cheyennes !"  exclaimed  the  sophisticated  Mr.  Mas- 
terson ;  "they  are  over  the  brow  of  the  liill !"  Then  he 
turned,  and  started  for  Ruth  Pemberton  and  the  others 
at  a  sharp  trot. 

While  Mr.  ]\Iasterson  was  creeping  on  the  buffaloes, 
Ruth  Pemberton  from  her  buckboard  perch,  followed 
him  through  the  field  glasses.  She  saw  him  pause,  and 
push  forward  with  his  rifle  at  the  rattlesnake;  while  she 


22  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

could  not  see  the  reptile,  by  some  instinct  she  realised  it 
— coiled  and  fanged  and  venomous — and  shuddered. 
She  drew  a  breath  of  relief  as  Mr.  jNIasterson  re-began 
his  stalk.  She  saw  him  when  he  rose  to  his  knee ;  then 
came  the  straight,  streaky  puif  of  white  smoke,  and  the 
dying  bull  stood  staggering  and  bleeding.  Next  there 
drifted  to  her  on  the  loitering  breeze  the  boom  of  the 
buffalo  gun,  blunted  by  distance  and  direction.  Her 
glasses  covered  the  herd  when  in  its  blood-rage  it  held 
furious  wake  about  the  dying  ones. 

And,  what  was  most  strange,  Ruth  Pemberton  took  a 
primal  joy  therein.  She  was  conscious  of  the  free,  orig- 
inal sweep  of  the  plains  about  her,  with  the  white  shim- 
mer of  the  Canadian  beyond.  And  sensations  claimed 
her,  to  flow  in  her  veins  and  race  along  her  nerves, 
which  archery  and  tennis  had  never  called  up.  There 
abode  a  glow  in  her  blood  that  was  like  a  brightness  and 
a  new  joy.  If  the  handkerchief-declining  Mr.  Master- 
son  were  a  wliite  Indian,  what  now  was  she?  Only  she 
never  once  thought  on  that. 

Mr.  Master  son  came  up  at  top  speed,  and  said  some- 
thing in  Spanish  to  the  Mexican.  That  hare-heart  be- 
came pale  as  paper;  instead  of  bringing  in  his  team,  as 
Mr.  Masterson  had  commanded,  he  cut  the  hopples  of 
the  nearest  horse,  and  went  powdering  away  towards  the 
'Dobe  Walls.     Mr.  Masterson  tossed  up  his  Sharp's  with 


HOW  IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  DIFFERENT  23 

a  half-notion  of  stopping  him;  then  he  shook  his  head 
cynically. 

"He's  only  a  Mexican,"  said  he.  Helping  Ruth  Pem- 
berton  from  the  buckboard,  where  she  sat  In  startled  Ig- 
norance, he  remarked:  "Get  Into  the  buffalo  wallow; 
you'll  be  safer  there." 

"Safe.''"  whispered  Ruth  Pemberton. 

Mr.  Masterson  pointed  to  eleven  Cheyennes  on  the  far 
crest  of  the  hill.  Then  he  led  Ruth  Pemberton  to  the 
buffalo  wallow,  where  Count  Banti  was  already  crouch- 
ing. 

"You've  left  your  Winchester  on  the  buckboard,"  said 
Mr.  Masterson. 

Count  Banti  stared  glassily,  the  purple  of  his  face  a 
dingy  gray.  The  man  was  helpless ;  the  nearness  of 
death  had  paralyzed  him. 

Mr.  Masterson  shifted  his  glance  to  Ruth  Pemberton. 
Her  eyes,  shining  like  strange  jewels,  met  him  squarely 
look  for  look ;  there  was  a  heave  to  her  bosom  and  a  red 
in  her  cheek.  His  own  eyes  were  jade,  and  his  brows 
had  come  sternly  forward,  masking  his  face  with  the 
very  spirit  of  war.  The  two  looked  upon  one  another — 
the  boy  and  the  girl  whose  rearings  had  been  so  far 
apart  and  whose  natures  were  so  close  together. 

"I'll  get  it,"  she  said,  meaning  the  Winchester. 

Mr.  Masterson  made  her  crouch  down  in  the  bottona 


24.  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

of  the  buffalo  wallow,  where  neither  bullet  nor  arrow- 
might  reach  lier.  Then,  walking  to  the  buckboard,  he 
got  the  Winchester  and  the  cartridge  belt  that  belonged 
with  it. 
.  "It's  Baldy  Smith's,"  remarked  Mr.  Masterson,  as 
•,  though  Ruth  Pemberton  might  be  interested  in  the  news. 
**It's  a  good  gun — for  a  Winchester." 

One  of  the  Cheyennes,  glimpsing  the  recreant  Mex- 
ican, started  in  pursuit;  the  others  rode  down  the  slope 
for  a  closer  survey  of  the  trio  in  the  buffalo  wallow. 
Mr.  Masterson  threw  the  loop  of  a  lariat  over  the  head 
of  Houston  and  fastened  him,  hopples  and  all,  to  the 
buckboard. 

Understanding  that  no  surprise  was  possible,  the 
Cheyennes  began  at  a  sweeping  gallop  to  circle  the  gar- 
rison in  the  buffalo  wallow,  their  dainty  little  war  ponies 
a-flutter  of  eagle  feathers  and  strips  of  red  cloth.  As 
they  circled,  they  closed  in  nearer  and  nearer ;  at  less 
than  six  hundi'ed  yards  they  opened  fire. 

Each  attacking  buck  kept  his  pony  between  himself 
and  Mr.  Masterson,  firing  from  beneath  the  pony's  neck. 
The  shooting  was  bad ;  the  bullets  struck  the  grass  and 
kicked  up  puffs  of  dirt  one  hundred  yards  in  front,  and 
then  came  singing  forty  feet  overhead.  Count  Banti 
heard  the  zip!  zip!  zip!  and  groaned  as  he  lay  on  his 
face. 


HOW  IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  DIFFEBEKT  25 

Mr.  Masterson,  who— beingr  on  Jiis  feet — was  head 
and  shoulders  above  the  level  of  the  flat,  paid  no  heed  to 
the  terror-ridden  Count  Banti.  Once  he  cast  a  look  at 
Ruth  Pemberton,  makin,^  sure  she  was  below  the  danger 
level.  She,  for  her  side,  watched  his  expression  as  he 
stood,  rifle  in  hand,  observing  the  attack.  Slie  felt  no 
fear,  felt  nothing  only  a  sweep  and  choke  of  exultation. 
It  was  as  though  she  were  the  prize  for  which  a  battle 
was  being  fought — a  battle,  one  against  ten  !  Also,  she 
could  read  in  the  falconed  frown  of  IMr.  Masterson  some- 
what of  that  temper  wherewith  he  had  harvested  those 
scalps  on  his  bridle. 

While  Ruth  Pemberton  gazed  in  a  kind  of  fondness 
without  fear,  the  heavy  Sharp's  came  to  the  sudden 
shoulder  of  Mr.  Masterson.  The  roar  of  it  fell  upon 
her  so  close  and  loud  that  it  was  like  a  fog  to  her 
senses.  Mr.  Masterson  threw  open  his  gun,  and  clipped 
in  a  second  cartridge.  The  brass  shell  flirted  over 
his  shoulder  by  the  extractor,  struck  Count  Banti's 
face.  That  hero — who  had  hunted  lions  by  night 
and  tigers  on  foot — gave  a  little  scream,  and  then  lay 
mute. 

"It  was  this !"  said  Ruth  Pemberton,  holding  up  the 
emptv  shell  to  Mr.  Masterson. 

Mr.  Masterson's  bullet  had  gone  through  ponv  and 
rider  as  though  they  were  papier-mache.      What  life 


26  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

might  have  been  left  in  the  latter  was  crushed  out  by  the 
falling  pony  who  smashed  chest  and  ribs  beneath  his 
heavy  shoulder. 

The  nine  other  circling  bucks  gathered  about  the  one 
who  had  died.  Clustered  as  they  were,  there  could  be 
no  thought  of  missing,  and  Mr.  Masterson  emptied  an- 
other saddle.  With  that,  the  others  swooped  on  the 
slain  and  bore  them  off  beyond  the  hill. 

As  they  did  so,  far  away  to  the  right  a  single  Chey- 
enne came  riding;  he  was  yelping  like  twenty  wolves  at 
once,  and  tossing  something  and  catching  it  in  his  hand. 
The  single  Cheyenne  was  he  who  had  followed  the  craven 
Mexican,  and  the  tiling  he  tossed  and  played  with  was 
the  Mexican's  scalp.  When  he  had  joined  the  others, 
and  they  had  laid  their  dead  in  a  safe  place,  the  whole 
party  again  came  riding — open  order — down  the  long 
slope  towards  the  fatal  buffalo  wallow. 

Mr.  Masterson  picked  up  the  Winchester  and  forced 
cartridges  into  tlie  magazine  until  it  would  hold  no 
more. 

"They're  going  to  charge,"  said  Mr.  Masterson,  apol- 
ogising for  the  Winchester.  "It'll  come  handy  to  back 
up  my  Sharp's  in  a  case  of  quick  work.  There  won't 
be  time  to  load,  and  a  Sharp's  is  only  a  single-shot  gun, 
you  know." 

Ruth  Pemberton  did  not  know,  and  her  mind  was  run- 


HOW  IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  DIFFERENT  27 

ning  on  other  matters  than  guns,  single-shot  or  maga- 
zine. 

"They're  going  to  charge?"  she  asked. 

"Yes ;  but  don't  lose  your  nerve.  They'll  make  a  heap 
of  hubbub,  but  it's  two  for  one  I  stand  them  off.'* 

The  assurance  came  as  coolly  as  though  Mr.  Master- 
son  considered  the  possibilities  of  a  shower,  and  was  con- 
fident of  the  integrity  of  Ruth  Pemberton's  umbrella. 

"One  thing !"  said  Ruth  Pemberton  wistfully. 

"Yes?"  said  Mr.  Masterson,  his  eye  on  the  Cheyennes, 
his  ear  on  Ruth  Pemberton. 

"Don't  let  them  take  me !     Kill  me  first !" 

*'I've  intended  to  from  the  beginning,"  said  Mr.  Mas- 
terson steadily.  "First  you,  then  me!  You  know  the 
Western  saying  for  an  Indian  fight :  Always  save  your 
last  shot  for  yourself !" 

There  was  nothing  of  despair  or  lack  of  resolution  ;  he 
spoke  as  speaks  one  who  but  gives  a  promise  to  one  who 
has  reason  to  receive  it.  He  offered  it  without  fear  to 
one  who  accepted  it  without  fear,  and  when  he  had  spoken 
Ruth  Pemberton  felt  as  cheerfully  light  as  a  bird.  She 
had  a  desire  to  seize  on  the  Winchester  and  take  her 
stand  with  Mr.  Masterson.  But  her  ignorance  of  Win- 
chesters was  there  to  baffle  her ;  moreover  Mr.  Masterson, 
as  though  he  read  her  impulse,  interfered. 

"Stay  where  you  are !"  he  commanded. 


28  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

From  Adhere  she  crouched  in  the  buffalo  wallow,  Ruth 
Pemberton  heard  a  whirl  of  jells,  and  the  grass-muffled 
drumming  of  many  hoofs ;  and  the  3'ells  and  the  hoof- 
beats  were  bearing  down  upon  her  with  the  rush  of  a 
tempest.  There  came  a  rattle  of  rifles,  and  the  chuck ! 
chuck!  of  bullets  into  the  soft  earth.  In  the  midst  of  the 
din  and  the  clamour  she  heard  the  bold  roar  of  the  buffalo 
gun.  Then  she  saw  Mr.  Masterson  snatch  up  the  Win- 
chester, and  spring  clear  of  the  buffalo  wallow  to  the 
flat,  grassy  ground  in  front.  Feeling  nothing,  knowing 
nothing  beyond  a  resolution  to  be  near  him,  live  or  die, 
she  was  out  of  the  buffalo  wallow  as  soon  as  was  he,  and 
on  her  knees  at  his  feet.  She  could  seize  on  no  one  ele- 
ment as  distinct  and  separate  from  a  whirling  whole, 
made  up  of  blur  and  smoke  and  yell  and  rifle  crash,  with 
feathers  dancing  and  little  ponies  charging  like  meteors ! 
She  was  sure  only  of  the  rock-bound  fact  to  which  she 
clung  that  Mr.  Masterson  never  moved  from  where  he 
stood.  She  heard  the  spitting,  whip-like  crack  of  the 
Winchester,  so  different  from  the  menacing  voice  of  the 
buffalo  gun,  as  working  it  with  the  rapidity  of  a  bell- 
punch  he  flred  it  faster  than  she  could  count. 

The  thing  was  on  and  by  and  over  in  a  moment ;  the 
charging  Cheyennes  went  to  right  and  left,  unable  to 
ride  up  against  that  tide  of  death  which  set  so  fiercely 
in  their  faces.     Nine  Cheyennes  made  tha,t  charge  upon 


HOW  IT  MIGHT  HA  VE  BEEN  DIFFERENT  £9 

the  buffalo  wallow ;  Ruth  Pemberton  counted  but  four  to 
flash  to  the  rear  at  the  close.  The  four  never  paused; 
their  hearts  had  turned  weak,  and  they  kept  on  along 
the  river's  bank,  until  at  a  low  place  they  rode  in  and 
went  squattering  across.  Five  riderless  ponies,  running 
wild  and  lost,  gave  chase  with  neighs  of  protest  at  being 
left  behind. 

Out  in  front,  one  of  the  five  Cheyennes  who  had  been 
shot  from  his  saddle  in  the  charge  raised  himself, 
wounded,  on  his  elbow.  Mr.  Masterson,  who  had  re- 
covered his  Sharp's,  sent  a  bullet  into  his  head.  Ruth 
Pemberton,  even  through  the  tingling  trance  of  battle 
that  still  wrapped  her  close,  turned  cold. 

"What  else?"  inquired  Mr.  Masterson.  "We  don't 
run  any  Red-Cross  outfit  in  the  Panhandle." 

Ruth  Pemberton  made  no  reply;  her  fascinated  eyes 
saw  where  a  trickle  of  blood  guttered  the  cheek  of  IVIr. 
Masterson.  She  thought  no  more  on  dead  or  living 
Cheyennes,  but  with  a  great  sob  of  horror  came  towards 
him,  eyeing  the  blood. 

"Only  a  nick,"  said  he.  "You  can't  fight  all  day 
without  a  scratch  or  two." 

Count  Banti  began  to  stir.  He  sat  up  In  a  foolish 
way  and  looked  at  Ruth  Pemberton.  She  turned  from 
him,  ashamed,  and  let  her  gaze  rove  to  where  the 
Cheyennes,  far  beyond  the  river,  were  rounding  the  cor- 


30  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

ner  of  a  hill.  There  was  nothing  she  could  say  to  Count 
Banti. 

Mr.  Masterson  loosened  and  mounted  Houston,  which 
seasoned  pony  had  comported  himself  throughout  the 
melee  with  the  steadiness  which  should  go  with  his 
name.  Presently  he  rode  back  to  the  buffalo  wallow,  and 
instead  of  four,  there  were  eleven  scalps  on  his  bridle 
rein. 

"A  man  should  count  his  coups,^^  he  vouchsafed  in  ex- 
planation. 

There  was  no  need  of  defence ;  Ruth  Pemberton,  with- 
out understanding  the  argument  which  convinced  her 
own  breast,  looked  upon  those  scalps  as  the  fitting  finale 
of  the  morning's  work, 

Mr.  Masterson  caught  up  the  buckboard  horse,  mate 
to  the  one  upon  which  the  Mexican  had  fled,  and  strapped 
a  blanket  on  its  back  for  the  use  and  behoof  of  Count 
Banti — still  speechless,  nerves  a-tangle.  Then  Mr.  Mas- 
terson, taking  a  spare  cinch  from  his  war-bags,  to  the 
disgust  of  Houston,  proceeded  with  more  blankets  to 
construct  a  pillion  upon  which  Ruth  Pemberton  might 
ride  behind  him.  Houston,  as  he  felt  the  cinch  drawing, 
pointed  his  ears  resentfully. 

"Well?"  threatened  Mr.  Masterson. 

Houston  relaxed  the  resentful  ears  and  acquiesced 
with  grace,  fearing  worse. 


HOW  IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  DIFERENT  3T 

Mr.  Masterson  from  the  saddle  held  out  his  hand; 
Ruth  Pemberton  took  it  and,  making  a  step  of  the  stir- 
rup which  he  tendered,  sprang  to  the  pillion. 

"You  can  hold  on  by  my  belt,"  quoth  Mr.  Masterson. 

And  so  they  came  back  to  the  *Dobe  Walls ;  Ruth  Pem- 
berton's  arms  about  Mr.  Masterson,  her  cheek  against 
his  shoulder,  while  her  soul  wandered  up  and  down  in  a 
world  of  strange  happinesses,  as  one  might  walk  among 
trees  and  flowers,  with  birds  singing  overhead. 

Four  days ;  and  the  buckboard  bearing  Ruth  Pember- 
ton, Madam  Pemberton  and  Count  Banti  drew  away  for 
the  North.  A  lieutenant  with  ten  cavalrymen,  going 
from  Fort  Elhot  to  Dodge,  accompanied  them  by  way 
of  escort. 

"And  so  you  hate  the  East?"  Ruth  Pemberton  had 
asked  Mr.  Masterson  that  morning  before  the  start,  her 
eyes  dim,  and  her  cheeks  much  too  pale  for  so  innocent 
a  question. 

"No,  not  hate,"  returned  Mr.  Masterson,  "but  my  life 
is  in  the  West." 

As  the  buckboard  reached  the  ridge  from  which  would 
come  the  last  ghmpse  of  the  Canadian,  off  to  the  south 
and  west,  outlined  against  the  sky,  stood  a  pony  and 
rider.  The  rider  waved  his  sombrero  in  farewell.  Ruth 
Pemberton  gazed  and  still  gazed;  the  hunger  of  the 
brown  eyes  was  as  though  her  love  lay  starving.     The 


82  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

trail  sloped  sharply  downward,  and  the  picture  of  the 
statue  horseman  on  the  hill  was  snatched  away.  With 
that — her  life  turned  drab  and  desolate — Ruth  Pember- 
ton  slipped  to  the  floor  of  the  buckboard,  and  buried  her 
face  in  her  mother's  kindly  lap. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THAT  TRANSACTION  IN  PONIES. 

UNT  NETTIE  DAWSON,  because  of  her  ten- 
derness of  heart  and  the  hard  acridities  of 
her  tongue,  had  made  for  herself  a  place 
in  the  popular  esteem.  The  well-to-do  and  healthy 
feared  her  for  her  sarcasms,  while  upon  the  sick 
she  descended  in  tlie  guise  of  an  unmixed  blessing. 
Those  who  mourned,  and  by  whose  hearths  sat  trouble, 
found  in  her  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land. 

Cimarron  Bill  was  the  personal  nephew  of  Aunt  Net- 
tie, the  other  Inhabitants  of  Dodge  being  nephews  and 
nieces  by  brevet,  and  it  was  to  Cimarron  Bill  that  Mr. 
Masterson  was  indebted  for  the  advantage  of  Aunt  Net- 
tie's acquaintance. 

"She's  some  frosty,  Bat,"  explained  Cimarron  Bill, 
in  apology  for  the  frigid  sort  of  Aunt  Nettie's  reception, 
"she's  shore  some  frosty.  But  if  you-all  was  ever  to  get 
shot  up,  now,  for  mebby  holdin'  four  aces,  or  because  you 


34  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

had  become  a  drawback  to  a  quadrille,  she'd  nacherally 
jump  in  an'  nuss  you  hke  you  was  worth  savin'." 

Mr.  Masterson  and  Cimarron  Bill  had  met  for  the 
first  time  the  Autumn  before,  and  their  friendship  came 
about  in  this  fashion.  Sun  City,  a  thriving  metropolis, 
consisting  of  a  tavern  and  a  store,  lay  far  to  the  south 
of  Dodge  and  close  against  the  Indian  Territory  line. 
Mr.  Masterson,  coming  north  from  the  buffalo  range, 
rode  into  Sun  City  late  one  October  afternoon,  and  since 
his  affairs  were  not  urgent  decided  to  remain  till  morn- 
ing. 

Mr.  Stumps,  proprietor  of  the  Palace  Hotel,  being 
the  tavern  aforesaid,  wore  an  uneasy  look  when  Mr. 
Masterson  avouched  his  intention  to  tarry,  and  submitted 
that  his  rooms  were  full. 

"Leastwise,"  observed  the  doubtful  Mr.  Stumps,  "all 
three  beds  is  full  but  one ;  an'  that  is  took  by  Cimarron 
Bill." 

*'Is  this  Bill  person  here.?"  queried  Mr.  INIasterson. 

"Well  he  ain't  exactly  here  none  just  now,"  responded 
Mr.  Stumps,  "but  he's  liable  to  come  pirootin'  in.  He; 
p'inted  out  this  mornin'  for  Tascosa ;  but  he's  a  heap  un-' 
certain  that  a-way,  an'  it  wouldn't  surprise  me  none  if 
he  was  to  change  his  mind.  All  I  know  is  he  says  as  he 
rides  away,  'Don't  let  no  shorthorn  have  my  room,  Mr, 
Stumps,  as  I  may  need  it  myse'f  a  whole  lot ;  an'  in  case 


THA  T  TRANS  A  CTION  IN  PONIES         35 

I  do  I  don't  want  to  be  obleeged  to  bootcher  no  harmless 
stranger  for  its  possession.'  " 

"All.  the  same,"  said  Mr.  Masterson  with  asperity,  "I 
reckon  I'll  take  that  room." 

)  "Thar'll  be  an  uprisin'  if  Cimarron  Bill  comes  back," 
said  Mr.  Stumps,  as  he  led  Mr.  Masterson  to  the  second 
floor. 

"You  won't  be  in  it,"  replied  Mr.  Masterson  confi- 
dently.    "I  won't  ask  you  to  help  put  it  down." 

Mr.  Masterson  was  searching  his  war-bags  for  a  clean 
blue  shirt,  meaning  to  do  honour  to  Sun  City  at  its  even- 
ing meal.  Suddenly  a  youth  of  his  own  age  appeared  in 
the  door.  So  cat- foot  had  been  his  approach  that  even 
the  trained  ear  of  Mr.  Masterson  was  given  no  creaking 
notice  of  his  coming  up  the  stair.  The  youthful  stranger 
was  equipped  of  a  dancing  eye  and  a  Colt's-45,  and  Mr. 
Masterson  by  some  mighty  instinct  knew  him  for  Cimar- 
ron Bin.  The  question  of  identity,  however,  was  in- 
stantly made  clear. 

"My  name's  Cimarron  Bill,"  remarked  the  youthful 
stranger,  carefully  covering  Mr.  Masterson  with  his 
weapon,  "an'  I'd  like  to  ask  whatever  be  you-all  doin'  ii> 
my  apartments.'"'  Then,  waiving  reply,  he  went  on; 
"Thar,  don't  answer ;  take  the  short  cut  out  of  the  win- 
dow.    I'm  fretted,  an'  I  wants  to  be  alone." 

Mr.  Masterson,  to  facilitate  those  proposed  improve- 


S6  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

merits  in  Ills  garb,  had  unbuckled  his  pistol  and  laid 
it  on  the  bed.  Cimarron  Bill,  with  militant  genius, 
stepped  in  between  Mr.  Masterson  and  his  artillery. 
Under  these  convincing  circumstances  the  suggested 
window  seemed  the  one  solution,  and  ]\Ir.  IVIasterson 
adopted  it.  The  twelve-foot  leap  to  the  soft  prairie 
grass  was  nothing;  and  since  Cimarron  Bill,  with  a  fine 
contempt  for  consequences  in  nowise  calculated  to  prove 
his  prudence,  pitched  Mr.  Masterson's  belt  and  pistol,  as 
well  as  his  war-bags,  after  him,  the  latter  was  driven  to 
confess  that  erratic  personage  a  fair  and  fearless  gentle- 
man. The  tacit  confession,  however,  served  as  no  re- 
straint upon  liis  movements,  and  seizing  his  weapon  Mr. 
Masterson  in  his  turn  went  cat- foot  up  the  stair.  As  had 
Cimarron  Bill  before  him,  he  towered  presently  in  the 
narrow  doorway,  his  steady  muzzle  to  the  fore. 

*' Jump !"  quoth  Mr.  Masterson,  and  Cimarron  Bill 
leaped  from  the  same  window  which  so  lately  had  been 
the  avenue  of  Mr.  INIasterson's  departure. 

Cimarron  Bill  did  not  have  the  luck  which  had  at- 
tended the  gymnastics  of  Mr.  Masterson,  and  sprained 
liis  ankle.  Whereupon,  Cimarron  Bill  sat  up  and  called 
for  a  glass  of  liquor,  solacing  himself  the  while  with 
e^dl  words.  Following  the  drink,  Mr.  Stumps  nego- 
tiated a  truce  between  his  two  guests,  and  Mr.  Masterson 
«ame  down  and  shook  Cimarron  Bill  by  the  hand. 


THAT  TRANSACTION  IN  PONIES  37 

"What  I  like  about  you,"  said  Cimarron  Bill,  as  he 
met  Mr.  Masterson's  courtes}^  halfway,  "is  your  per- 
sistency. An'  as  you  seem  sort  o'  took  with  them  apart- 
ments of  mine,  on  second  thought  we'll  ockepy  'em  In 
yoonison." 

Mr.  Masterson  and  Cimarron  Bill  became  as  Damon 
and  Pythias.  In  the  months  that  followed  they  were  part- 
ners, killing  buffaloes  and  raiding  Indians  for  ponies, 
share  and  share  alike.  Mr.  Masterson  came  finally  to 
know  Aunt  Nettie.  And  because  Cimarron  Bill  loved 
her,  he  also  loved  her,  and  suffered  in  humble  silence  from 
her  caustic  tongue  as  did  his  mate.  For  was  not  the 
fortune  of  one  the  fortune  of  the  other.?  and  were  they 
not  equal  partners  in  all  that  came  their  way.'' 

Cimarron  Bill's  most  glaring  fault  was  a  complete  in- 
aptitude for  commerce.  It  was  this  defect  that  taught 
him,  while  at  play  in  Mr.  Webster's  Alamo  saloon,  to 
place  a  value  on  "queens-up"  so  far  in  advance  of  their 
merits,  that  in  one  disastrous  moment  he  was  swept  clean 
of  his  last  dollar  and  his  last  pony.  For  a  buffalo 
hunter  thus  to  be  set  afoot  was  a  serious  blow ;  more,  It 
smelled  of  disgrace.  Your  Western  gentleman,  dis- 
mounted and  obliged  to  a  painful  pedestrianism,  kas  been 
ever  a  symbol  of  the  abject;  also  his  standing  is  shaken 
in  what  social  circles  he  affects.  These  several  truths 
were  abundantly  known  to  Cimarron  Bill,  and  on  the 


S8  THE   SUNSET   TRAIL 

morning  after  his  bankruptcy  he  begged  the  use  of  a 
pony  from  IMr.  Masterson  with  a  purpose  of  straighten- 
ing up  his  prostrate  destinies. 

"I'll  ride  down,"  explained  Cimarron  Bill,  easily,  "to 
the  divide  betwen  Medicine  Lodge  Creek  an'  the  Cimar- 
ron, an'  the  first  Cheyenne  who  comes  teeterin'  along  on 
a  proper  pony  ought  to  fit  me  out.  I  won't  be  afoot 
long  enough  to  wear  out  my  moccasins ;  you  can  bet  a 
blue  stack  on  that !" 

Cimarron  Bill's  plan  to  remount  himself  was  one  feas- 
ible enough.  True,  as  stated  in  a  previous  chapter,  there 
existed  an  official  peace  betwen  the  Cheyennes  and  their 
paleface  brothers.  Unofficially,  it  was  the  quenchless 
practice  of  both  sides  to  kill  and  scalp  each  other,  when- 
ever an  opportunitj'^  linked  with  secrecy  and  safety  was 
presented.  It  was  the  pleasure  of  the  Cheyennes  to  fall 
upon  isolated  camps  of  buffalo  hunters  and  exterminate 
them;  the  broad  prairies,  had  they  spoken,  would  have 
told  a  hundred  such  red  stories.  By  way  of  reprisal,  the 
enterprising  paleface  wiped  out  what  Cheyennes  crossed 
his  path.  jMoreover,  it  was  the  delight  of  the  paleface, 
when  not  otherwise  engaged,  to  raid  a  Cheyenne  village, 
and  drive  off  the  ponies.  The  ponies,  saleable  as  hot 
cakes,  went  at  thirty  dollars  the  head  in  Dodge ;  where- 
fore the  practice,  apart  from  the  thrill  and  joy  thereof, 
was  not  without  its  profit.      Cimarron  Bill,  however,  did 


f 


THAT  TRANSACTION  IN  PONIES         39 

not  contemplate  a  raid ;  what  he  aimed  at  was  a  single 
pony,  and  there  were  safer,  even  if  more  sanguinary 
methods  by  which  a  single  pony  might  be  arrived  at. 

Bear  Shield's  band  of  Cheyennes  had  pitched  their 
tepees  on  the  Cimarron,  thirty  miles  to  the  south  of  Sun 
City.  The  region  was  a  fair  hunting  ground,  rife 
of  buffalo.  The  attraction  to  Bear  Shield's  people, 
however,  was  Sun  City  itself.  What  was  a  thirty-mile 
ride  to  a  Cheyenne,  with  nothing  upon  his  mind  but  fire- 
water.'' The  latter  refreshment  abode  privily  to  his  call 
in  Sun  City,  and  he  might  purcha,se  at  the  rate  of  a  pint 
for  a  buffalo  robe.  So  brisk  was  trade  that  every  day 
from  one  to  a  dozen  Cheyennes,  wliose  hearts  were  low 
and  thirsty,  rode  into  Sun  City,  each  with  a  modest  pack 
of  robes,  to  presently  ride  forth  robeless  but  rapturous. 

Southward  from  Sun  City  ran  the  trail  for  that  point 
on  the  Cimarron  where  Bear  Shield  and  his  tribesmen, 
their  squaws  and  pappooses  and  dogs  and  ponies,  lived 
and  moved  and  had  their  aboriginal  being.  As  the  trail 
crossed  Medicine  Lodge  Creek  it  crowded  the  base  of  a 
thickly  wooded  knoll,  at  the  back  of  which  a  bald  preci- ' 
pice  fell  away  for  a  sheer  two  hundred  feet. 

It  was  the  wont  of  that  paleface,  who  felt  pressed 
upon  by  the  need  of  a  Cheyenne  scalp  or  pony  or  both, 
to  lie  in  hopeful  ambush  on  the  wooded  knoll.  He 
would  not  grow  weary   with  much  watcliing;    his   re- 


40  THE   SUNSET    TRAIL 

ward  was  sure  to  appear  witliin  the  hour,  in  the  shape 
of  a  drunken  Cheyenne,  reeHng  in  his  saddle  with  the 
robe-bought  hospitahty  of  Sun  City  fifteen  miles  away. 
The  sullen  Sharp's  would  speak,  and  the  bibulous  Chey- 
enne go  headlong.  Then  the  paleface  who  liad  sniped 
him  would  mount  his  own  pony  with  speed,  and  round 
up  the  riderless  pony  of  that  Cheyenne  who  had  been. 
Once  the  Cheyenne's  pony  was  secured,  the  paleface 
would  scalp  and  strip  his  victim ;  then,  using  his  lariat, 
he  would  drag  what  he  didn't  want  to  the  precipice  ad- 
verted to,  and  toss  It  over. 

Full  two  hundred  leading  citizens  of  Bear  Shield's  vil- 
lage had  been  blotted  out,  before  the  Cheyennes  became 
aware  of  tlieir  fate  and  the  grim  manner  of  it;  for  the 
paleface  never  exposed  liis  ambush  by  letting  any  Cliey- 
enne  get  away.  If  the  census  of  the  Cheyenne  party 
exceeded  the  count  of  rifles  on  the  knoll,  they  were  per- 
mitted to  ride  by  in  innocent  drunkenness,  unconscious 
of  the  death  they  had  grazed.  As  for  what  dead  Chey- 
ennes went  over  the  cliff,  certain  coyotes  and  ravens, 
educated  of  a  prevailing  plenty  to  haunt  the  spot,  would 
in  iin  hour  remove  the  last  trace  of  their  taking  off. 
Full  two  hundred  Cheyennes,  the  flower  of  Bear  Shield's 
band,  were  sent  to  the  happy  hunting  grounds,  at  the 
base  of  the  wooded  knoll  on  Medicine  Lodge  Creek,  be- 
fore their  wondering  relatives  solved  the  puzzle  of  their 


THAT  TRANSACTION  IN  PONIES         41 

disappearance.  Once  the  gruesome  riddle  was  read,  the 
Clieyennes  as  a  nation  painted  for  war.  It  was  then 
tJiat  Bear  Shield  drove  North  like  a  storm,  leaving  Sun 
City  a  memory,  and  killing  out  the  last  injurio^us  pale- 
face for  forty  miles  around.  That,  liowever,  is  to  one 
side  of  our  narrative,  which  lias  to  do  with  Cimarron 
Bill,  about  to  re-establish  himself  as  a  mounted  and 
therefore  reputable  member  of  society. 

Mr.  Masterson  sought  to  dissuade  Cimarron  Bill  from 
his  enterprise.  It  was  not  that  he  objected  to  the  other's 
vigorous  scheme  of  gaining  a  remount ;  lie  wasn't  so  ten- 
derly given  towards  Cheyennes  as  all  that.  The  gov- 
ernment, in  favor  of  appearances,  might  pretend  to  pre- 
sence the  Cheyenne;  but  Mr.  Masterson  knew  that  in 
reality  no  close  season  for  Cheyennes  existed  more  than 
it  did  for  gray  wolves.  But  the  wooded  knoll  on  Medi- 
cine Lodge  Creek  was  distant ;  to  go  and  come  meant 
days ;  the  profit,  one  pony,  was  slight  for  so  much  effort 
and  time  and  travel.  Mr.  Masterson,  in  comparison 
with  the  investment,  pointed  out  the  meagre  sort  of  the 
reward.     Also  he  offered  to  give  Cimarron  Bill  a  pony. 

Mr.  Masterson's  arguments  availed  nothing;  Cimar- 
ron Bill  was  in  that  temper  of  diligent  virtue,  common 
with  folk  who  have  just  finished  a  season  of  idleness  and 
wicked  revelry.  He  declined  Mr.  Masterson's  pony  ;  he 
would  win  a  pony  for  himself. 


42  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

"No  se'f-respectin'  gent,"  observed  Cimarron  Bill, 
"can  accept  gifts  from  another  gent.  As  you  sow  so 
shall  you  reap ;  havin'  recklessly  lost  my  pony,  I  must 
now  win  out  another  by  froogality  an'  honest  industry. 
Besides  it  ain't  jest  the  pony;  thar's  the  skelp — worth 
twenty-five  dollars,  it  is,  at  the  Dodge  Bank.  That's 
a  bet  you  overlooks.  With  that  pony,  an'  them  twenty- 
five  dollars  for  the  skelp,  I  can  begin  life  anoo." 

"Then,"  returned  Mr.  Masterson,  disgustedly,  "if 
you're  going  to  play  the  fool,  and  waste  five  days  and 
ride  seventy-five  miles  and  back  to  get  a  thirtj^-dollar 
pony  and  a  twenty-five-dollar  scalp,  I  might  as  well  be  a 
fool  mate  to  you,  and  go  along." 

*'No,  you  sta}'  here,"  expostulated  Cimarron  Bill.  "I 
might  get  do^vned ;  in  which  event  it'll  be  for  you  to  look 
after  Aunt  Nettie." 

Cimarron  Bill,  despite  his  restless  ways  and  careless 
want  of  forethought,  always  provided  for  Aunt  Nettie. 
This  was  no  work  of  difficultj'^;  Aunt  Nettie's  needs  were 
neither  numerous  nor  expensive,  and,  since  a  gentleman 
of  the  lively  accuracy  of  Cimarron  Bill  could  in  the 
season  kill  and  cure  for  his  share  fifty  dollars'  worth  of 
buffalo  robes  a  day,  they  were  readily  overcome. 

"One  hundred  shots,"  Cimarron  Bill  was  wont  to  say, 
*'from  my  old  eight-squar',  an'  Aunt  Nettie  is  fixed  for 
one  plumb  year." 


THA T  TRANSACTION  IN  PONIES  43 

Mr.  Masterson  was  about  to  remonstrate  against  re- 
maining in  Dodge,  but  Cimarron  Bill  interrupted. 

"As  a  favor  to  me,  Bat,"  he  said,  "merely  as  a  favor 
to  me.  I  won't  be  gone  a  week;  an'  I'll  feel  easier 
thinkin'  you're  left  to  look  after  Aunt  Nettie  in  case  of 
accidents.  It's  inside  o'  the  possible,  d'ye  see,  for  this 
B'ar  Shield  outfit  to  get  me ;  an  Injun,  now  an'  then,  does 
win  a  pot,  you  know." 

]Mr.  Masterson  made  over  to  the  use  of  Cimarron  Bill 
a  chestnut  broncho,  famous  for  bottom  and  bad  habits. 
After  he  had  cantered  away,  ]\Ir.  Masterson  reflected 
uneasily  on  Cimarron  Bill's  anxiety  over  Aunt  Nettie, 
the  same  being  out  of  common.  ]\Ir.  Masterson  thought 
this  a  portent  of  bad  luck.  The  notion  made  Mr.  ]\Ias- 
terson  nervous ;  when  Cimarron  Bill  had  been  absent  a 
fortnight  and  no  news  of  him,  the  nervousness  grew  into 
alarm. 

"I  wonder,"  mused  Mr.  Masterson,  gloomily,  "if  those 
Bear  Shield  outcasts  have  bumped  him  off.  He  was  that 
careless.  Bill  was,  some  such  turn  might  have  been  wait- 
ing in  the  deck  for  liim  any  deal  at  all,"  and  Mr.  IMas- 
terson  sighed. 

Mr.  Trask's  freight  teams  came  sauntering  into 
Dodge  from  Fort  Elliot ;  they  might  have  cut  the  trail  of 
the  missing  Cimarron  Bill,  and  Mr.  Masterson  sought 
the  Trask  mule-skinners   for   information.      They   h«ad 


44  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

freiglitcd  through  Sun  City,  indeed  their  route  ran  by 
the  wooded  knoll  so  fatal  to  Cheyennes ;  not  one,  how- 
ever, had  heard  sound  or  beheld  sign  of  the  vanished 
Cimarron  Bill.  At  that,  Mr.  IMasterson  buckled  on  his 
six-shooter,  thrust  his  rifle  into  the  scabbard  that  gar- 
nished his  saddle,  and  while  the  frost  was  on  the  short 
dry  buffalo  grass  one  December  morning,  sped  south- 
ward for  news. 

At  Sun  City,  ]\Ir.  Stumps  of  the  Palace  Hotel  bore 
testimony  that  Cimarron  Bill  had  passed  one  night  at 
his  caravansary,  making  merry,  and  departed  full  of 
confidence  and  Old  Jordan  in  the  morning. 

"But  he  didn't  pack  no  outside  liquor  with  him,"  ob- 
served the  experienced  Mr.  Stumps,  who  was  capable  of 
a  deduction,  "an'  what  jag  he  carried  would  have  been 
worn  plumb  away  long  before  ever  he  reached  Medicine 
Lodge  Creek." 

INIr.  Stumps  averred  that  this  was  the  last  and  all  he 
knew  of  Cimarron  Bill. 

Mr.  Masterson  might  have  gone  thirty  miles  further 
and  interviewed  Bear  Shield  himself.  That  befeathered 
chieftain,  however,  was  a  savage  of  prudence  and  coun- 
sel, and  no  one  to  boast  of  paleface  scalps,  though  a 
thousand  were  drying  in  the  lodges  of  his  people.  No, 
nothing  could  be  gathered  from  the  Cheyennes  them- 
selves.    It  was  less  trouble,  and  quite  as  sagacious,  for 


THA T  TRANSACTION  IN  PONIES  45 

]\Ir.  IMasterson  to  believe  that  Cimarron  Bill  had  fallen 
a  Cheyenne  sax^rlfice,  and  abandon  investigation.  Ad- 
justing it,  therefore,  in  his  own  mind  that  Cimarron 
Bill  had  perished,  IMr.  Masterson  started  for  Dodge, 
cogitating  vengeance. 

Mr.  Masterson,  while  sad,  was  not  to  be  shocked  by  a 
thing  so  commonplace  as  death,  even  though  the  one 
fallen  had  been  his  own  blanket-mate.  And  he  blamed  no 
one — neither  Cimarron  Bill  nor  the  Cheyenne  who  had 
taken  his  hair.  Such  events  were  as  the  certain  incidents 
of  existence,  and  might  be  counted  on  in  their  coming. 
Yesterday  it  had  been  the  fate  of  Cimarron  Bill ;  it  might 
be  his  own  to-morrow.  Meanwhile,  by  every  Western 
rule,  it  was  his  instant  business  to  take  a  price  from  the 
Cheyennes,  in  scalps  and  ponies,  for  the  lost  life. 

And  there  was  Aunt  Nettie.  Mr.  Masterson  recalled 
the  final  urgency  of  Cimarron  Bill's  exhortations  to  look 
after  her  in 'case  he  never  returned. 

*'And  I  surely  will,"  ruminated  Mr.  Masterson. 
*'When  he  said  that.  Bill  must  have  felt,  even  if  he 
couldn't  see,  the  cloud  that  hung  over  the  future." 

Mr.  Masterson  deemed  it  his  duty  to  acquaint  Aunt 
Nettie  with  the  demise  of  Cimarron  Bill;  at  the  terror 
of  such  a  mission  he  shook  in  his  saddle.  Slowly  he  rode 
up  to  the  little  three-room  cottage  where  Aunt  Nettie 
made  her  home. 


46  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

'^Miss  Dawson,"  began  Mr.  Masterson,  for  while  the 
lady  was  "Aunt  Nettie"  in  the  conversation  of  Dodge, 
she  was  invariably  "Miss  Dawson"  to  her  face,  "Miss 
Dawson,  I'm  afraid  Bill's  dead."  Mr.  Masterson  fal- 
tered as  he  spoke  these  words.  "If  I  knew  how,"  he 
went  on,  "to  break  the  information  soft,  I'd  do  it;  but 
such  delicate  plays  are  beyond  my  reach.  All  I  can  do 
is  ride  in  and  say  that  in  my  judgment  Bear  Sliield's 
outfit  has  downed  him." 

"Oh!"  retorted  Aunt  Nettie,  retaining,  with  hand  on 
hip,  that  attitude  of  scorn  which  she  had  assumed  as  she 
listened  to  Mr.  Masterson,  "oh,  all  you  can  do  is  ride  in 
an'  say  that  in  your  jedgment" — the  word  came  off 
Aunt  Nettie's  tongue  most  witheringly — "B'ar  Shield's 
outfit  has  downed  my  Billy !  Well  then  let  me  tell  you 
this,  Bat  Masterson  ;  thar  ain't  no  Cheyenne  ever  painted 
his  face  who  could  corral  my  Billy.  Thar,  vamos;  I 
ain't  got  no  time  to  waste  talkin'  to  children  in  their 
teens — which  you  ain't  seen  twenty  none  as  yet,  Bat  Mas- 
terson— who  can't  think  of  nothin'  better  to  do  than  come 
pesterin'  into  camp  with  a  theerv  that  them  B'ar  Shield 
felons  has  bushwhacked  my  Billy." 

"But,  Miss  Dawson,"  urged  Mr.  Masterson,  "what  I 
wanted " 

"No  matter  what  ji^ou  wanted,"  interrupted  Aunt  Net- 
tie.    "You  get  yourself  together  an'  pull  your  freight ! 


THAT  TRANSACTION  IN  PONIES         47 

If,  as  3'ou  says,  in  your  jedgment  Billy's  gone,  wlmt  be 
you  doin'  in  Dodge,  I'd  like  to  ask?  Why  ain't  you 
back  on  the  Cimarron  gatherin'  ha'r  an'  ponies,  an'  get- 
tin'  even  for  Billy?  Thar,  line  out  o'  here!  While  Vm 
throwin'  away  time  on  you-all,  my  bread's  bumin'.  I 
can  smell  it  plumb  here." 

*'Aunt  Nettie,"  thought  Mr.  Masterson,  as  he  with- 
drew, "is  goin'  to  be  a  difficult  lady  to  take  care  of.  It's 
four  for  one,  when  I  have  to  offer  her  money,  or  try  to 
hang  up  a  hindquarter  of  buffalo  in  her  kitchen,  she'll 
chunk  me  up  with  stove-wood,  or  anything  else  that's 
loose  and  little,  and  handy  at  the  time.  However,  it'll 
have  to  be  gone  through  with;  Cimarron  Bill  is  dead, 
and  his  last  word  was  for  me  to  look  out  for  Aunt 
Nettie." 

As  he  swung  into  the  saddle,  following  his  visit  to 
Aunt  Nettie,  a  flush  of  shame  and  anger,  which  even  the 
terrors  of  that  formidable  spinster  could  not  suppress, 
showed  through  the  bronze  on  jMr.  IMasterson's  face. 
The  taunt  about  being  in  Dodge  when  he  ought  to  be 
over  on  the  Cimarron,  harvesting  a  vengeance,  had 
^  stirred  him  deeply.  To  have  it  intimated  that  liis  cour- 
age was  slow,  and  his  friendship  cool,  wore  sorely  on  the 
soul  of  Mr.  Masterson.  It  was  the  harder  to  bear  when 
flung  from  the  tongue  of  a  woman ;  for  his  liands  were 
tied,  and  his  mouth  was  closed  against  resentment. 


48  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

*'One  thing,"  thought  Mr.  Masterson,  by  vraj  of  self- 
consolation,  "the  man  never  made  a  moccasin  track  in 
Dodge  who  could  have  said  as  mucli  and  got  away. 
Aunt  Nettie's  right  though;  I  ought  to  be  evening  up 
for  Billy  right  now." 

Time  stood  a  week  later,  and  along  the  shallow  Cimar-  I 
ron — as  in  every  other  region  civilised  or  savage — it 
was  Christmas  night.  The  weather  was  mild,  the  bare 
earth  without  frost,  while  on  the.  slow  wind  creeping  in 
from  the  north  there  rode  the  moist  odour  of  snow.  The 
moon,  old  and  on  the  wane,  was  swinging  low  in  the 
western  sky,  and  what  dim  lights  it  offered  were  made 
more  dim  by  a  constant  drift  of  clouds  across  its  yellow: 
face. 

Scattered  along  the  north  bank  of  the  Cimarron,  a 
straggling  mile  or  more,  stood  the  tepees  of  Bear 
Shield's  people.  It  was  well  beyond  midnight,  and  noth- 
ing vocal  about  the  camp  save  the  occasional  short  yelp 
of  a  dog,  made  melancholy  by  the  hour's  lonesomeness. 
Now  and  then  an  ember  of  some  dying  fire  burned  for  a 
fierce  moment,  and  then  blinked  out.  Mr.  Masterson, 
riding  slowly  down  the  opposite  bank,  and  taking  shrewd 
care  to  keep  deep  within  the  shadow  of  the  woods,  counted 
seventy-two  lodges — a  probable  population  of  seven 
hundred  and  twenty,  for  a  plainsman's  census  argues  ten 
to  a  lodge. 


THAT  TRANSACTION  IN  PONIES  49 

Mr.  Masterson  had  located  the  band  of  ponies,  which 
made  up  the  riches  of  Bear  Shield,  late  in  the  dull  gray 
afternoon,  while  he  lay  hidden  in  a  dry  arroya.  As  it 
grew  darker,  he  had  crept  nearer,  keeping  ever  the  loca- 
tion of  the  ponies  which,  in  a  rambling,  ragged  herd, 
were  grazing  up  the  wind.  Mr.  Masterson,  on  the  south 
bank  of  the  Cimarron,  was  heedfully  to  leeward  of  the 
herd ;  a  proper  piece  of  caution,  for  an  Indian  pony,  at 
the  earliest  paleface  taint  to  alarm  the  breeze,  will  scream 
like  a  wronged  panther. 

Arriving  at  the  place  where  he  meant  to  ford  the  river 
and  begin  his  drive,  Mr.  IVIasterson  halted  for  a  cloud 
of  unusual  size  and  thickness  to  blanket  the  blurred  ra- 
diance of  the  dwindling  moon.  Such  a  cloud  was  on  its 
way ;  from  where  it  hung  curtain- wise  on  the  horizon  it 
should  take  ten  minutes  before  its  eclipse  of  the  inter- 
fering moon  began. 

While  he  waited  Mr.  IMasterson  removed  his  sombrero 
and  fastened  it  back  of  the  cantle  by  a  saddle-string. 
Also,  he  unstrapped  his  blanket  and  wrapped  it  about 
his  shoulders,  for  it  was  part  of  Mr.  Masterson's 
strategy  to  play  the  Cheyenne  for  this  raid.  It  was 
among  the  chances  that  he  would  run  across  an  Indian 
herder  or  meet  with  some  belated  savage  coming  into 
camp.  The  latter  was  not  likely,  however,  since  the  last 
journey  an  Indian  will  make  is  a  night  journey.     The 


50  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

night  is  sncrcd  to  spirits,  and  he  hesitates  to  violate  it 
by  being  abroad ;  in  the  day  the  spirits  sleep. 

While  Mr.  Masterson  waited  deep  beneath  the  cotton- 
woods,  a  splash  from  the  river's  brink  would  now  and 
again  show  where  the  bank  was  caving,  or  the  crackling 
of  branches,  and  tlie  profound  flapping  of  great  wings 
overhead,  mark  how  some  wild  turkey — a  heavy  old  gob- 
bler, probably — had  broken  down  a  bough  with  sheer 
stress  of  fat,  and  was  saving  himself  from  a  fall.  Far 
away  could  be  heard  the  faltering  cry  of  a  coyote,  be- 
wailing a  jackrabbit  which  he  had  not  caught. 

That  thick  cloud,  waited  for,  began  to  encroach  on  the 
moon,  and  IMr.  Masterson,  his  pony  stepping  as  though 
walking  on  a  world  of  eggs,  headed  for  the  river.  The 
place  had  been  well  considered;  there  was  no  tall  bank 
off  which  to  plump,  but  instead  a  gradual  sandy  descent. 

The  pony  walked  into  the  water  as  silently  as  a  ghost. 
The  current  rippled  and  rose  in  petulant  chuckles  of 
protest  about  the  pony's  legs ;  but,  since  its  deepest  was 
no  more  than  to  the  hocks,  Mr.  Masterson  honoured  it 
with  scant  attention. 

Among  Bear  Shield's  ponies  was  a  giant  mule,  rene-  • 
gade  and  runaway  from  some  government  train.     This 
long-eared  traitor  remembered  his  days  of  burden,  and 
the  thing  to  please  him  least  was  the  sight  or  sound  or 
«cent  of  a  paleface.     The  paleface  was  the  symbol  of 


THA T  TRANSACTION  IN  PONIES  51 

thralldom  and  sore  stripes,  and  the  old  bellsharp  desired 
none  of  his  company. 

By  stress  of  brain,  which  counts  among  mules  as 
among  men,  the  old  bellsharp  had  risen  to  the  rank  of 
herd  leader,  and  the  Bear  Shield  ponies  would  drill  and 
wheel  and  go  charging  off  at  his  signal.  As  ^Ir.  Mas- 
terson  and  his  pony  scrambled  up  the  bank  a  flaw  in  the 
wind  befell,  and  a  horrifying  whiff  of  the  stealthy  in- 
vader reached  the  old  bellsharp.  Thereupon,  he  lifted 
up  his  voice  in  clangorous  condemnation,  after  the 
manner  of  his  species.  The  liarsh  cry  echoed  up  and 
doMTi  the  slumbrous  Cimarron  like  an  outcry  of  destruc- 
tion. 

With  that  cry  for  his  cue,  Mr,  Masterson  drove  hcMne 
the  spurs  and  began  a  rapid  round-up  of  the  startled 
ponies.  At  the  warning  call  of  the  old  bellsharp,  the 
herd  members  came  rushing  towards  him.  Placing  him- 
self at  their  head,  his  "hee-haw"  of  alarm  still  ringing 
like  a  bugle,  he  bore  them  away  at  a  thunderous  gallop 
for  th"  tepees. 

Hard  at  the  hocks  of  the  flying  battalion  came  Mr. 
Masterson.  The  outfit  swept  through  Bear  Shield's 
village  for  its  entire  length,  IMr.  Masterson  lying  low 
along  his  pony's  neck  and  letting  his  blanket  flap  in  the 
wind  bravely,  for  purposes  of  deception.  After  the 
ponies,  charged  Mr.  Masterson ;  after  Mr.  Masterson, 


62  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

charged  a  riotous  brigade  of  dogs ;  the  uproar  might 
have  been  heard  as  far  as  Crooked  Creek. 

As  tlie  mad  stampede  swept  on,  ever  and  anon  a  pony 
more  bhnd  or  more  clumsy  than  his  fellows  would  bump 
into  a  lodge.  At  that,  an  indignant  Cheyenne  would 
tear  aside  the  lodge-flap,  protrude  his  outraged  head, 
and  curse  the  ponies  aboriginally.  Observing  the  blan- 
keted Mr.  IMasterson,  the  savage  would  go  back  to  bed, 
gratefully  taking  him  for  some  public-spirited  neigh- 
bour who  was  striving  to  return  the  ponies  to  their  graz- 
ing ground  and  inspire  them  with  normal  peace. 

The  flying  ponies — the  vociferous  old  bellsharp  hav- 
ing fallen  to  the  rear,  through  lack  of  speed — wheeled 
against  a  tliick  clump  of  cottonwood,  and  then  broke 
north  into  the  open.  Their  fever  of  fear  was  subsiding, 
they  were  taking  a  more  modest  pace,  and  Mr.  Masterson 
began  turning  in  the  comers,  and  closing  up  the  flanks, 
of  the  retreating  band.  He  made  no  effort  to  crowd  or 
press,  but  gave  them  every  encouragement  to  regain  their 
confidence,  and  moderate  their  flight.  Presently  the 
herd  was  jogging  comfortably;  and  because  the  wind 
was  in  their  faces  they  were  furnished  no  disquieting 
notice  of  Mr.  Masterson's  paleface  identity  through  the 
medium  of  their  noses. 

The  ponies  had  traveled  twenty  minutes,  and  were 
cleverly  bunched,  when  Mr.  Masterson  made  a  discovery. 


THA T  TRANSACTION  IN  PONIES  53 

Off  to  tlie  right  in  the  dull  half-dark  he  beheld  a  figure, 
blanketed,  mounted,  riding  like  the  wind,  and  busy  with" 
the  stragglers  as  they  pointed  out  of  the  herd.  Like  a 
flash,  Mr.  Masterson  whipped  his  rifle  from  its  scab- 
bard. Throwing  the  blanket  aside,  to  free  his  hands 
and  arms,  he  fell  a  trifle  to  the  rear,  and  began  edging 
towards  the  stranger. 

From  his  riding,  and  because  he  seemed  so  willingly 
bent  on  sending  the  ponies  northward,  jNIr.  Masterson 
felt  assured  that  the  stranger  was  a  white  man.'  The 
expiring  moon  threw  a  last  parallel  ray  along  the  sur- 
face of  the  plains,  and  Mr.  Masterson  saw  that  the 
stranger's  pony  was  a  chestnut.  Also  it  had  the  hard 
and  bitter  gait  of  Alazan,  the  bronco  wherewith  he  had 
equipped  Cimarron  Bill  when  that  lost  one  issued  south 
from  Dodge  to  his  wiping  out. 

Mr.  Masterson  drew  nearer ;  of  a  truth  the  jolty  pony 
was  Alazan!  Who  then  was  the  stranger.'*  Could  he, 
by  some  miracle  of  heaven,  be  Cimarron  Bill.''  Mr.  Mas- 
terson gave  a  curlew's  wliistle,  wliich  had  been  a  signal 
between  him  and  Cimarron  Bill.  At  the  sound  the 
stranger  wheeled  upon  him. 

Mr.  Masterson  pulled  up  Iiis  pony;  the  sharp  cluck! 
cluck!  of  the  buff'alo  gun  clipped  the  night  air  as  he 
cocked  it,  for  Mr.  Masterson  was  a  prudent  man.  The 
stranger,  sitting  fearlessly  straight  in  liis  stirrups,  bore 


64  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

down  upon  him  with  speed.  ]\Ir.  Masterson  watched  him 
with  the  narrowed  gaze  of  a  lynx ;  as  much  as  he  might 
tell  In  the  night,  there  was  no  weapon  in  the  stranger's 
hands. 

"Howdj,  Bat !"  cried  the  stranger,  as  he  came  up  with 
a  great  rush.    "I've  knowed  you  for  an  hour." 

Then  INIr.  IMasterson  let  do^Ti  the  hammer  of  his 
Sharp's,  slammed  it  back  in  its  scabbard  beneath  his 
saddle-flap,  and  taking  the  stranger  in  a  bear-hug,  fairly 
tore  l)im  from  the  saddle.  The  stranger  was  Cimarron 
Bill ;  and  in  his  youth  Mr.  Masterson  was  sentimental. 

"Where  have  you  been  these  weeks  .'^"  cried  IMr.  Mas- 
terson. 

"I'll  tell  you  later,"  returned  Cimarron  Bill.  "We'd 
better  clot  up  these  ponies  an'  begin  the  drive,  or  they'll 
get  our  wind  an'  stampede  for  B'ar  Shield's  village." 

It  was  beginning  to  snow — great  soft  clinging  flakes, 
and  each  like  a  wet  cold  pinch  of  wool !  The  snow  storm 
was  both  good  and  bad ;  it  made  it  difficult  to  handle  the 
ponies,  but  it  subtracted  from  the  chances  of  Bear 
Sliield's  successful  pursuit. 

Mr.  Masterson  and  Cimarron  Bill,  one  on  the  right 
and  one  on  the  left  flank  of  the  herd,  riding  to  and  fro 
like  setter  dogs  quartering  for  birds,  drove  on  through- 
out a  hard  four  hours.  They  broke  eastward  to  avoid 
Sun  City ;  for  it  would  have  been  impolite  to  bring  those 


THAT  TRANSACTION  IN  PONIES         55 

i 

ponies  through  hamlet  or  ranch,  and  so  threaten  it  with 
Bear  Shield's  anger. 

With  tlie  first  of  dawn  the  tired  riders,  having 
brought  the  bunch  into  a  stretch  of  country  choice  for 
that  purpose,  halted  to  make  an  inspection.  The  snow 
had  ceased  to  fall,  and  the  sun  coming  up  gave  them 
light  enough  to  tell  good  from  evil  as  presented  in  the 
shape  of  ponies.  Wliile  Mr.  Masterson  held  the  herd, 
Cimarron  Bill  commenced  cutting  out  the  spent  and 
worthless  ones.  When  the  weeding  was  over,  there  re- 
mained one  hundred  and  thirty  head,  and  the  worst 
among  them  worth  thirty  dollars  in  the  Dodge  corrals. 
Throwing  the  riff-raff  loose,  Mr.  Masterson  and  Cimar- 
ron Bill  again  took  up  their  travels  at  a  stiff  road  gait. 
They  were  forty-five  miles  from  Dodge;  worn  as  they 
were,  they  should  still  reach  the  Arkansas  and  Dodge 
by  nightfall. 

*'And  now,"  quoth  Mr.  Masterson,  when  they  were 
straightened  away  for  the  north,  "what  have  you  been 
doing?  Aunt  Nettie  was  scared  speechless.  She  thought 
the  Cheyennes  had  run  their  brand  on  you." 

Cimarron  Bill's  adventures  were  laid  open.  Ten  miles 
out  from  Sun  City  he  had  crossed  up  with  Red  River 
Tom  of  the  Bar-8-bar  ranch.  That  well-informed  boy 
had  told  liim  of  a  dance  to  be  given  three  nights  away, 
in  the  new  camp-house  of  the  B-in-a-Box  outfit. 


56  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

"No  common  fandango,"  explained  Cimarron  Bill, 
"but  the  real  tiling,  with  people  comin'  from  as  far  away 
as  Tascosa  an'  Fort  Sill.  Nacherrally,  I  decided  to  at- 
tend. That  Cheyenne  I  was  after,  an'  his  pony,  could 
wait;  the  dance  couldn't." 

Cimarron  Bill,  continuing,  tokl  how  he  had  cut  across 
country  for  the  home  ranch  of  the  B-in-a-Box.  He  ar- 
rived in  good  time,  that  is  to  say  four  hours  prior  to  the 
fiddlers,  which,  as  he  expressed  it,  gave  him  space  wherein 
"to  liquor  up"  and  get  in  proper  key  for  the  festival 
impending.  While  engaged  upon  these  preliminaries  he 
was  shot  in  the  leg  by  a  fellow-guest  with  whom  he  dis- 
agreed. 

"You  see,"  explained  Cimarron  Bill,  "this  outlaw  was 
a  Texas  ranger,  an'  after  about  six  drinks  I  started  to 
tell  him  what  I  thought  of  a  prairie  dog  who  would  play 
policeman  that  a-way,  for  thirty  dollars  a  month  an' 
furnish  his  own  hoss.  One  word  leads  to  another  an'  the 
last  one  to  the  guns,  an'  the  next  news  is  I  get  plugged 
in  the  off  hind  laig.  I  wouldn't  have  cared  so  much," 
concluded  Cimarron  Bill,  in  mournful  meditation  over 
his  mishap,  "only  he  shot  me  before  the  first  dance." 

Cimarron  Bill  had  been  laid  up  in  the  new  camp-house 
of  the  hospitable  B-in-a-Box.  Being  able  to  mount  and 
ride  away,  three  days  before  Mr.  Masterson  encountered 
him,  he  had  deemed  it  expedient  to  make  a  driving  raid 


THAT  TRANSACTION  IN  PONIES         57 

on  Bear  Shield's  village  on  his  journey  home,  and  carry 
off  a  handful  of  ponies.  Thus,  by  a  coincidence  of 
pony-raiding  impulse,  the  two  had  been  restored  to  one 
another. 

"For  you  see,"  said  Cimarron  Bill,  "I  was  still  shy  a 
hoss,  the  same  as  when  I  started  out  of  Dodge." 

"All  the  same,"  observed  Mr.  Masterson,  severely, 
**you  ought  to  have  sent  word  to  Aunt  Nettie." 

"Send  Aunt  Nettie  word!"  exclaimed  Cimarron  Bill, 
*'I  wasn't  that  locoed!  Aunt  Nettie  would  have  been 
down  on  me  like  a  f  allin'  star !  Shore !  she'd  have  dee. 
scended  on  that  B-in-a-Box  outfit  like  a  mink  on  a  settin' 
hen !  I  saveyed  a  heap  better  than  to  send  Aunt  Nettio 
word." 

Vast  was  the  joy  of  Dodge  as  Mr.  Masterson  and 
Cimarron  Bill  rode  in  with  those  Bear  Shield  ponies ;  pro- 
digious was  the  trade-hubbub  when,  over  at  Mr.  Trask's 
corrals — Mr.  Wright  officiating  as  auctioneer — one  by 
one  the  herd  was  struck  down  to  the  highest  bidder. 
Under  the  double  stimulation  of  the  holidays  and  the 
ponies,  commerce  received  a  boom,  the  like  of  which  had 
not  before  been  known  in  the  trade  annals  of  Dodge.  In 
proof  whereof,  not  alone  Mr.  Short  at  the  Long  Branch 
but  Mr.  Kelly  at  the  Alhambra  declared  that  never  since 
either  of  them  last  saw  the  Missouri,  had  so  much  money 
been  changed  in  at  roulette  and  farobank  in  any  similar 


58  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

space  of  time.  Mr.  Wright  of  the  outfitting  store  con- 
firmed these  tales  of  commercial  gorgeousness,  and  Mr. 
Masterson  and  Cimarron  Bill  were  greeted  and  treated 
as  public  benefactors.  Meanwhile,  far  away  on  the  rav- 
ished Cimarron,  Bear  Shield  was  making  wrathful  medi-. 
cine,  and  dancing  the  dances  and  singing  the  songs  of 
him  who  has  been  robbed. 

"Thar,  you  Bat  Masterson !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Nettia, 
as  she  heaped  high  the  banquet  board  before  him  and 
her  prodigal  nephew.  "Which  it  goes  to  show  how 
feeble-witted  you  be.  Yere  you  comes  ghost-dancin' 
'round  with  a  yarn  about  my  Billy  bein'  killed 
an'  skelped!  I  told  you  then,  what  you  now  have  the 
livin'  sense  to  see,  I  hope,  that  thar  was  never  the  Chey- 
enne painted  his  face  who  could  down  my  Billy,  B'ar 
Shield  himse'f  not  barred." 


CHAPTER  III. 

INEZ  OF  THE  'DOBE  WALLS. 

NEZ  was  a  mustang — a  small,  wild-born  thing,  and 
the  pet  of  the  'Dobe  Walls.  Those  Indians  who 
came  calling  at  the  'Dobe  Walls  sniffed  suspi- 
ciously at  Inez  and  said  she  was  the  "White  Man's  Medi- 
cine." When  put  on  the  scales  and  weighed,  Inez  kicked 
the  beam  at  seventy  pounds,  or  about  one-eighth  of  what 
she  might  have  weighed  had  she  lived  out  the  life  de- 
signed for  her  by  Providence,  and  escaped  the  dwarfing 
influences  of  bread  and  milk  as  furnished  by  Mr.  Hanra- 
han's  black  cook. 

Inez's  share  in  the  life  of  the  'Dobe  Walls  began  in 
this  way.  The  horse-hustler  had  found  Inez  and  her 
little  mustang  mother  visiting  among  the  ponies  when  he 
went  to  make  his  morning  round-up.  The  mother  fled 
like  a  shadow,  but  Inez,  then  in  her  babyhood  and  some- 
thing the  size  of  a  jackrabbit,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
horse-hustler.     That  personage  of  ponies  rode  into  camp 

59 


60  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

with  Inez  in  his  arms,  and  presented  her  as  a  common 
charge.  She  was  adopted  and  made  much  of,  and  soon 
forgot  her  griefs  and  her  httle  mother  whinnying  among 
the  hills. 

Except  that  she  ceased  to  grow,  civilization  agreed 
with  Inez.  Whether  from  the  fright  of  capture  or  the 
menu  of  the  'Dobe  Walls,  and  although  with  time  she 
slimmed  and  shaped  up  to  be  the  silken  image  of  a  full- 
grown  mustang,  Inez  stood  no  higher  than  nine  hands. 
One  might  pick  her  up  and  carry  her  under  one's  arm 
like  a  roll  of  blankets ;  and  occasionally,  for  the  fun  of 
the  tiling,  one  did.  To  be  thus  transported,  threw  Inez 
into  a  temper;  she  was  a  petulant  mustang,  and  when 
again  on  her  four  small  hoofs — as  black  as  jet  and  as 
shiny — she  ran  open-mouthed  after  her  tormentor. 

If  time  hung  heavy  ]Mr.  Wright  or  Mr.  Masterson 
would  cinch  a  small  saddle-tree  onto  Inez.  Thereat,  our 
peevish  one  arched  her  small  spine,  dropped  her  velvet 
muzzle  between  her  fetlocks — as  slender  as  a  woman's 
wrists — and  sunfished  about  the  scene.  Inez  did  not 
have  to  be  trained  to  this  trick ;  it  was  in  her  blood  and 
she  "bucked"  by  instinct. 

The  'Dobe  Walls  consisted  of  ]Mr.  Wright's  store,  Mr. 
Kimball's  blacksmith  shop,  and  Mr.  Hanrahan's  saloon. 
This  latter  mart,  of  course.  The  West  without  a  bar- 
room would  be  London  without  a  club.     The  'Dobe  Walls 


INEZ  OF  THE  'DOBE  WALLS  61 

was  a  casual  camp  of  prairie  commerce,  pitched  on  the 
banks  of  the  Canadian,  and  meant  for  trade  with  the 
buffalo  hunters,  taking  skins  for  calico,  flour,  fire-water, 
sugar,  coffee,  cartridges  and  guns.  It  lay  two  hundred 
miles  to  the  back  of  no- where,  and  Dodge,  ten  days'  jour- 
|!iey  away  on  the  Arkansas,  called  itself  the  nearest  civ- 
ilization. The  fixed  population  counted  eleven  at  roll- 
call  ;  but  what  with  the  coming  and  going  of  the  buffalo 
hunters  there  were  few  moments  of  any  day  or  night 
when  a  count  of  noses  would  not  have  shown  more  than  a 
score.  The  public  ate  its  meals  in  the  saloon,  which  Mr. 
Hanrahan  turned  into  a  restaurant  three  times  a  day. 

Inez  came  with  the  rest  to  these  repasts,  and  stood 
about  behind  the  benches  and  looked  over  the  shoulders 
of  her  feeding  friends.  This  she  did  because  it  was  her 
privilege,  and  not  by  virtue  of  any  tooth  of  hunger.  If 
by  design  or  accident  the  door  were  closed,  Inez  wheeled 
indignant  tail  and  testified  to  a  sense  of  injury  with  her 
heels.  Since  she  broke  a  panel  on  one  of  these  spite- 
ful occasions,  Mr.  Hanrahan  had  been  taught  to  open 
his  portals  with  speed.  The  door  being  opened,  Inea 
would  enter,  snorting  her  small  opinion  of  him  who  had 
sought  to  bar  her  from  her  rights. 

When  it  rained,  Inez  took  shelter  in  the  saloon.  Also, 
she  passed  her  hours  of  leisure  there,  for  wliile  Inez  de- 
clined intoxicants  and  went  committed  to  water  as  much 


62  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

as  any  temperance  lecturer,  the  company  she  foimd  in 
Mr.  Hanrahan's  was  to  her  liking,  being  more  unbuckled 
and  at  case  than  were  those  busy  ones  of  the  stores — 
deep  with  their  foolish  barter. 

This  was  in  the  year  when  the  Panhandle  coyote  rolled 
in  fat  from  much  buffalo  meat,  and  a  buffalo's  skin 
brought  five  dollars.  The  June  night  had  been  swelter- 
ing hot.  In  the  store  and  about  the  clay  floor  of  Mr. 
Hanrahan's  saloon,  blanket-bedded  and  sound  asleep, 
lay  twenty-one  men.  Most  of  them  were  buffalo  hunters, 
all  were  equal  to  death  at  four  hundred  yards  with  one 
of  their  hea\'y  guns.  There  were  no  pickets  since  there 
were  no  suspicions ;  for  were  not  the  Comanche,  the  Ar- 
rapahoe,  the  Cheyenne,  and  the  Kiowa  their  friends ; 
and  had  not  delegations  of  these  aboriginal  clans  been 
smilingly  about  the  'Dobe  Walls  but  the  day  before? 
The  snores  and  deep-lunged  breathings  told  of  a  sense 
of  sure  security. 

Suddenly  a  pattering  racket  of  rub-a-dub-dub  broke 
on  the  sleeping  ears.  It  was  Inez  beating  an  ecstatic 
longroll  with  the  door  for  a  drum. 

"Who  shut  that  mustang  out.?"  growled  Mr.  Master- 
son. 

Mr.  Masterson  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  He 
glanced  towards  the  door;  it  was  not  closed.  Inez, 
standing  inside,  continued  to  beat  it  with  her  hoofs  by 


INEZ  OF  THE  'DOBE  WALLS  63 

way  of  tocsin.  Mr.  JNIasterson  through  the  open  door 
could  see  by  the  blue  light  on  the  eastern-southern  sky 
that  the  sun  was  coming  up. 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  baby.'"'  thought  Mr. 
IMasterson.  The  "baby"  was  one  of  many  titles  given 
Inez.  "What's  she  kicking  about.'*  That  Congo  hasn't 
fed  her  something  that  gives  her  a  colic,  has  he?"  Mr. 
]Masterson  arose  to  talk  it  over  with  Inez,  and  learn  and 
locate  her  aches. 

As  Mr.  Masterson  drew  near  the  door,  his  quick  eye 
caught  a  movement  under  the  cottonwoods  that  a  half 
mile  away  fenced  the  Canadian.  There  were  five  layers 
of  tan  on  Mr.  Masterson's  face,  each  the  work  of  a  Pan- 
handle summer.  A  moment  was  all  he  required  to  solve 
the  mystery  of  that  move  beneath  the  cottonwoods. 

"Indians !"  shouted  Mr.  Masterson. 

Then  Mr,  Masterson  closed  and  barred  the  door. 
The  door  closed,  he  blazed  away  from  a  window  with  a 
six-shooter  by  way  of  general  notice. 

Every  man  jack  of  the  twenty-one  in  store  and  bar- 
room was  on  his  feet  like  magic.  In  that  Western  day, 
rather  from  habit  than  apprehension,  one  would  as  soon 
think  of  going  to  bed  without  his  blankets  as  without  his 
guns.  Once  aroused,  the  'Dobe  Walls  was  instantly  an 
armed  fort. 

The  Indians  made  a  gorgeous  charge.     There  was  a 


64  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

red  line  of  tlicm,  five  hundred  strong — picked  fighters  of 
the  Chejennes,  tlie  Arrapahoes,  the  Kiowas,  and  the 
Comanches.  To  give  them  spirit  and  add  eclat  to  the 
fi'iiy,  two  hundred  of  their  friends  from  the  Pawnees  and 
the  Osages,  htid  come  to  see  the  fight.  These  copper 
gentlemen  of  peace  and  curiosity  were  seated  upon  a 
near-by  hill,  like  an  audience  at  a  bull  fight. 

It  was  a  pageant  to  remember — that  swoop  of  the  red 
five  hundred  over  the  half  mile  of  grassy  flat  between 
the  cottonwoods  and  the  'Dobe  Walls.  Great  war-bon- 
nets of  eagles'  feathers  floated  from  every  head.  The 
manes  and  tails  of  the  ponies  streamed  with  ribbons.  On 
they  swept,  each  buck  managing  with  liis  knees  his  sad- 
dleless,  bridlcless  little  war  horse. 

For  a  fortnight,  the  medicine  man  of  the  Comanches 
had  starved  and  danced  himself  into  a  frenzy.  He  had 
burned  "medicine"  tobacco,  and  occult  grasses,  and  slips 
of  sacred  cedar.  Coming  forth  of  his  trances  and  his 
songs,  he  brought  word  that  the  Great  Spirit  would  fight 
on  the  side  of  His  red  children.  His  medicine  told  liim 
they  might  ride  into  the  'Dobe  Walls  and  kill  the  pale- 
faces in  their  sleep  with  clubs.  There  would  be  no  re- 
sistance; it  was  no  more  than  just  riding  in  and  strip- 
ping off  the  scalps. 

Also,  there  were  rifles  and  tons  of  cartridges  which  the 
Great    Spirit   designed   for   His    red   children.     These 


INEZ  OF  THE  'DOBE  WALLS  65 

would  be  as  make-weight  with  the  scalps,  and  pay  His 
red  children  for  the  work  of  waging  war.  Thus 
preached  the  medicine  man ;  and  his  hearers  were  prompt 
with  their  belief.  And  thereupon  they  made  stealthy 
tryst  on  the  Canadian  that  June  morning,  and  without 
yelp  or  outcry  or  war-shout,  swept  down  upon  their  prey 
as  softly  silent  as  spectres. 

The  medicine  man's  medicine  would  have  been  true 
medicine,  had  not  the  counter  medicine  of  the  white  man 
been  hard  at  work-  Inez  was  so  wholly  of  the  palefaces 
that  she  disdained  an  Indian.  Let  one  but  cross  her 
ladyship  to  windward,  and  with  squeal  of  protest  she  fur- 
nished notice  of  her  displeasure.  Inez  had  gotten  the 
taint  of  that  line  of  copper  battle,  and  fled  for  refuge  to 
]\Ir.  Hanrahan's  saloon.  It  was  her  contempt  for  In- 
dians, expressed  on  Mr.  Hanrahan's  door,  that  brought 
out  the  'Dobe  Walls  to  defend  its  hair. 

There  was  no  such  Eastern  foolishness  as  a  pane  of 
glass  in  any  of  the  buildings.  The  mud  walls  were  per- 
forated with  openings  eighteen  inches  square.  These 
let  in  light  and  air.  Also,  they  made  portholes  from 
which  to  shoot.  Ten  seconds  after  Mr.  Masterson's 
warning  fusillade,  two  lynx-eyed  gentlemen  with  buffalo 
guns  were  ready  at  each  of  those  openings.  They  were 
a  committee  of  reception  likely  to  prove  as  warm  as  one 
misrht  wish. 


66  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

It  is  the  vanity  of  the  paleface  to  hold  that  he  can 
whip  twcntjfold  his  weight  in  any  alien  race.  He  will 
prove  this  on  the  teeth  of  men  red  or  yellow  or  black. 
No  disaster  drives  this  notion  from  his  vainglorious 
pate.  He  believes  it,  and  thereon  he  transacts  his  wars. 
Upheld  by  it,  his  steady,  cool  ferocity  of  heart,  makes 
his  enemies  believe  it  also ;  and  in  the  end  they  abandon 
him  as  the  creature  indomitable  and  above  defeat.  That 
cocky  conceit  of  himself  has  gotten  the  paleface  into  un- 
counted trouble;  and  then  brought  him  victoriously 
through  it. 

The  twenty-one  who  waited  with  the  buffalo  guns  were 
full-breathed  specimens  of  their  race.  Wherefore,  the 
fear  of  being  beaten  at  the  old  game  of  war,  which  their 
fathers  had  played  for  a  thousand  yea.TS,  never  once 
crossed  their  slope  of  thought.  They  would  cord  up 
those  flambuo3'ant  savages ;  they  would  have  a  scalp  to 
show  and  a  new  yam  to  tell  about  their  camp-fires. 
That  was  the  most  the  coming  trouble  promised ;  looked 
on  in  that  light,  to  repulse  those  savages  was  relaxation. 

The   charging  Indians  were  a  minute  covering  tht' 
space  between   those   river   cottonwoods   and  the  'Dobe 
Walls  where  the  buffalo  guns  so  hopefully  awaited  them. 

Every  charging  buck  wore  on  his  bow  arm  a  round 
shield  of  double  buffalo  hide.  It  had  been  stripped 
from  the  shoulder  of  a  bull,  and  would  stop  the  bullet 


mEZ  OF  THE  'DO BE  WALLS  67 

from  a  common  rifle.  The  oncoming  buck  covered  him- 
self with  this  bull's-hide  buckler.  His  quiver  of  arrows 
stood  up  above  his  left  shoulder.  An  he  charged,  he 
would  whip  his  right  hand  toward  the  quiver.  Each 
time  he  brought  away  an  arrow  by  the  feather-end. 
With  one  motion  the  arrow  was  thrown  across  the  bow ; 
drawing  it  to  the  head,  he  sent  it  singing  on  like  a  hornet. 
The  charging  line  of  five  hundred  was  preceded  by  an 
arrow-flight  as  thick  as  stubble,  for  these  red  experts 
shot  so  fast  that  the  seventh  arrow  would  leave  the  bow 
wliile  yet  the  first  was  in  the  air.  In  that  opening  charge 
they  did  not  employ  rifles.  At  ranges  not  to  run  over 
one  hundred  yards  the  arrow  would  do  as  well.  Every 
one  of  those  mJssilcs  came  twanging  off  the  bowstring 
with  a  vengeful  force  that  would  have  F,ent  it  smoothly, 
cleanly  through  a  buffalo  calf.  And  they  must  save 
their  rifles  for  long  range,  should  the  war  take  on  that 
shape. 

"Billy,"  said  Mr.  Masterson  to  Mr.  Dixon,  his  com- 
rade of  the  loophole,  "I'm  going  to  hive  that  big  one  on 
the  pinto  pony."  This  to  the  end  that  ]Mr.  Dixon  pick 
out  another  target. 

On  came  Mr.  Master  son's  selection,  shield  held  for- 
ward and  arrows  streaming  from  his  bow  like  splinters 
of  white  light.  IMr.  Masterson's  finger,  trained  to  wait 
instantly  on  his  eye,  unhooked  his  rifle  the  moment  the 


68  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

shield  showed  through  both  sights.  The  great  bullet 
struck  the  sliield  where  the  bunch  of  painted  feathers 
floated.  It  went  through  bull's-hide,  ann,  and  savage 
shoulder  behind  the  arm.  The  stricken  one  seemed  to 
rise  in  the  air  like  a  kite ;  and  then  he  struck  the  grass  in 
a  half-stunned  heap  to  roll  and  clutch,  and  at  last  to  lie 
still.  Mr.  Masterson  snapped  in  another  cartridge,  and 
lauglied  cheerfully. 

"Did  you  see  the  look  of  surprise,  Billy,"  asked  Mr. 
Masterson,  "on  my  Indian's  face?  That  was  because 
he  found  his  shield  no  good.  The  bullet  went  through 
as  though  the  shield  were  brown  paper,  and  disturbed 
that  Comanche's  military  theories." 

Mr.  Dixon,  whom  Mr.  Masterson  addressed,  made  no 
response.  He  had  piled  up  an  Indian  of  his  own,  and 
was  watching  him  with  the  keenest  interest,  with  intent 
to  send  another  bullet  into  him  if  he  moved,  which  he 
didn't. 

As  Mr.  Masterson  peered  forth  on  the  heels  of  the 
charge,  he  counted  a  round  dozen  of  the  Indians,  scat- 
tered carelessly  about,  not  one  of  whom  would  ride  again. 
The  buffalo  hunters  had  been  sedulous  to  aim  low  and  to 
see  their  hind-sights  before  they  pressed  the  trigger. 
With  the  dozen  Indians  were  half  as  many  ponies,  kick- 
ing and  tossing  in  the  death-heave. 

The  volley  broke  the  teeth  of  that  charge ;  the  Indians 


INEZ  OF  THE  'DOBE  WALLS  69 

split  on  the  buildings  to  right  and  left,  as  the  stone 
piers  of  a  bridge  split  the  river's  ice  in  the  spring. 
They  flashed  b}'^  and  ran  into  the  low  hills,  a  third 
of  a  mile  to  the  rear.  After  the  charge,  those  Osage- 
Pawnee  spectators,  on  their  hill  of  curious  peace, 
lighted  pipes;  they  saw  that  the  fight  was  to  be  a 
long  one. 

"Bat,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dixon,  pointing  to  where  Mr. 
Masterson's  Indian  lay  waving  his  one  good  hand  for  a 
sign,  "your  buck  ain't  dead.  Why  don't  you  drill  liim 
ag'in.?" 

"Let  him  alone,"  returned  Mr.  Masterson.  "It's  like 
baiting  a  trap.  If  he  lives  long  enough,  you  and  I  by 
being  sharp  can  kill  a  dozen  over  him,  for  his  people  will 
swoop  down  and  try  to  carry  him  off." 

The  big  double  door  was  the  weak  point.  To 
strengthen  it,  ]\Ir.  Hanrahan  tore  loose  the  tall  rum 
counter,  and  piled  it  across.  This  uncovered  Inez,  who 
for  all  her  hot  temper  was  timid  and  had  crept  behind 
the  counter,  regarding  it  as  a  cave  of  refuge  In  this  try- 
ing hour.  Stripped  of  her  defences,  Inez,  who  felt  the 
peril  though  she  might  not  understand,  scuttled  to  the 
rear  of  the  room  and  pushed  in  among  a  thicket  of  stools 
and  poker  tables,  which  had  been  thrown  there  to  have 
them  out  of  the  way. 

There  was  a  lull,  the  Indians  still  hugging  the  hills. 


70  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Taking  advantage  of  it,  INIr.  Hanrahan  sent  round  their 
morning  whiskey  to  the  people  at  the  openings. 

"After  the  next  charge,"  observed  Mr.  Hanrahan, 
who  was  not  without  wisdom  concerning  Indians,  "they'll 
be  so  sick  they'll  give  us  time  for  breakfast." 

Then  a  thing  occurred  that  struck  the  colour  from 
more  than  one  brown  cheek.  It  was  the  clear,  high  note 
of  a  bugle,  sounding  a  rally,  then  a  charge. 

"This  ain't  a  band  of  whites  painted  up,  is  it?"  said 
Mr.  Wright.  "If  it's  another  Mountain  Meadow 
racket,  boys,  if  we're  up  against  white  men,  we're  gone 
fawnskins!" 

"One  thing  sure,"  returned  Mr.  Masterson,  "no  In- 
dian blew  that  bugle.  Why,  an  Indian  can't  even 
wliistle." 

White  or  red,  again  came  the  swoop  of  the  enemy. 
Again  the  buffalo  guns  broke  them  and  crumpled  them 
up.  They  flew  on,  however,  and  took  position  under  the 
cottonwoods  from  which  they  had  first  charged.  As 
Mr.  IMasterson  foretold,  two  riding  side  and  side  had 
made  a  dash  for  the  wounded  Indian,  who  still  lifted  up 
his  arm.  The}''  would  have  gone  to  right  and  left  of 
him  and  picked  him  up. 

"Take  the  one  to  the  left,  Billy,"  said  Mr.  Masterson. 

Mr.  Masterson  and  INIr.  Dixon  carefully  added  the 
rescue  party  to  that  one  whom  they  came  to  save. 


mEZ  OF  THE  'DOBE  WALLS  71 

"What  did  I  tell  you !"  exulted  Mr.  IMasterson,  as  he 
clicked  in  a  fresh  cartridge  and  closed  the  breech  of  liis 
Sharp's. 

"Which  you  called  the  turn !"  said  Mr.  Dixon,  who 
having  been  three  years  from  Boston,  now  spoke  with  - 
a  Brazos  accent.  • 

Again  the  mysterious  bugle  sang  the  tan-ta-ra-ra  of  a 
rally.  The  sound  came  from  down  in  the  fringe  of  cot- 
tonwoods ;  the  bugler,  whoever  he  might  be,  had  charged 
each  time  with  the  others. 

As  the  bugle  sounded,  a  big  Osage,  one  of  the  pacific 
audience  on  the  hill,  started  to  ride  over  to  the  warriors 
forming  their  third  line  of  battle  beneath  the  trees. 
Doubtless  he  had  thought  of  a  word  of  advice  to  give 
his  fighting  friends,  whereof  they  stood  in  need.  He 
was  gravely  walking  his  pony  across  the  space  that  lay 
between  the  red  audience  and  the  red  actors  in  this  drama 
of  blood. 

"It  would  be  a  good  thing,"  remarked  Mr.  Wright, 
who  was  the  Ulysses  of  the  'Dobe  Walls,  "to  break  that 
Osage  of  his  conversation  habit  right  here.  And  yet,  it 
won't  do  to  hurt  him  and  bring  the  Osages  upon  us. 
Can't  you  down  his  pony.  Bat,  and  send  him  back  on 
foot?  You're  the  best  shot;  and  it  would  be  a  warning 
to  the  others,  smoking  on  the  hill,  that  we  won't  tolerate 
foreign  interference  in  this  fight." 


72  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Mr.  Mastcrson  notched  up  his  liindslght  for  seven 
hundred  yards.  The  rifle  flashed ;  the  Osage  pony  made 
a  forward  jump  and  fell.  At  that,  the  owner  picked 
himself  up,  rearranged  his  blanket,  and  soberly  strutted 
back  to  his  tribal  friends  whom  he  had  quitted.  His  said 
friends  took  their  pipes  out  of  their  mouths  and  laughed 
widely  over  his  discomfiture.  They  were  pleased  thus  to 
have  his  officiousness  rebuked.  He  should  have  kept  his 
nose  out  of  this  scrimmage,  which  was  not  an  Osage 
scrimmage. 

The  bugle  called  down  the  tliird  charge.  There  came 
the  low,  thick  patter  of  the  hoofs,  and  soon  the  hail  of 
steel-tipped  arrows  set  in.  The  arrows  broke  against 
the  mud  walls  of  the  building,  and  fell  to  the  harmless 
ground.  One  glanced  through  an  opening,  lifting  the 
long  locks  of  a  defender. 

"Tryin'  to  cut  your  ha'r,  Jim,"  jested  his  window 
mate.     "Don't  blame  'em ;  it  needs  trimmin'." 

"All  the  same,"  retorted  the  one  of  the  locks,  "I 
nacherally  trimmed  the  barber  a  lot;"  and  he  pointed 
to  a  savage  who  was  twisting  out  his  life  on  the 
grass. 

The  arrow  grazed  Inez  as  it  came  clattering  Into  her 
covert  of  stools  and  tables.  Inez  being  dislodged,  ran 
screaming  to  Mr.  Mastcrson  for  protection.  She  knocked 
against  that  excellent  marksman  in  time  to  spoil  his 


INEZ  OF  THE  'DOBE  WALLS  73 

shot,  and  save  the  Hfe  of  a  Kiowa  on  whose  destruction 
he  had  set  liis  heart. 

Mr.  Masterson,  a  bit  disgusted  with  the  timorous  Inez, 
picked  her  up  and  put  her  in  a  great  empty  bin,  wherein 
shelled  corn  had  been  kept.  Inez  became  instantly  en- 
gaged with  the  stray  kernels  which  she  found  in  the  bot- 
tom, fumbling  them  and  tasting  them  with  her  lips,  half 
guessing  they  were  good  to  eat. 

There  were  no  more  swoops ;  the  Indians  had  lost  faith 
in  the  charge  as  a  manoeuvre  of  war.  They  leaped  off 
their  ponies,  the  most  of  them,  and  from  the  hills  popped 
at  the  palefaces, looking  from  those  openings  in  the  'Dobe 
Walls,  with  their  rifles.  The  distance  was  a  fair  third  of 
a  mile,  and  the  chance  of  a  bullet  finding  its  way  to  any- 
one's disaster  was  as  one  in  one  thousand. 

After  the  lapse  of  fifteen  minutes  IMr.  Hanrahan's 
black  cook  began  tossing  up  a  bacon  and  flap  jack 
breakfast  for  the  garrison.  Water  was  at  hand;  Mr. 
Hanrahan's  well  had  been  dug  cautiously  inside  the 
building  for  just  such  a  day  as  this.  While  the  garri- 
son were  at  breakfast,  a  sentinel  went  through  the  man- 
hole and  watched  from  the  roof.  There  was  no  dis- 
turbance; the  Indians  kept  discreetly  to  the  hills,  and 
put  in  time  with  a  breakfast  of  their  own.  Fighting  is 
hungry  work,  and  will  give  folk  white  or  red  an  edge. 

After  breakfast,  ]\Ir.  IMasterson  lighted  one  of  Mr. 


74  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Hanrahan's  cigars,  and  took  a  look  from  a  rear  window. 
It  was  well  into  the  morning.  A  long  six  hundred 
yards  away  a  score  or  more  of  the  younger  savages, 
restless  with  a  lack  of  years  and  sore  to  be  thus  knocked 
about  on  their  first  warpath  by  a  huddle  of  buffalo  hunt- 
ers, were  gallopping  hither  and  3^on.  Their  war  bonnets 
still  flaunted,  and  their  ponies  still  streamed  with  rib- 
bons ;  but  where  was  that  hot  courage  which  had  broujjht 
them  a  trio  of  times  up  to  the  muzzles  of  those  buffalo 
guns.'*  Mr.  Masterson  counted  the  distance  with  his 
eye;  then  he  shook  his  head. 

"Bob,"  said  he  to  Mr.  Wright,  "I  can't  be  sure  at 
that  range  with  my  gun.  It's  got  buckhorn  sights — 
coarse  enough  to  drag  a  dog  through  'em.  Where's 
that  closed-sight  gun  you  brought  out  last  week,  the  one 
with  the  peep  sight  in  the  grip.'"' 

"It's  here,"  returned  Mr.  Wright,  "but  there's  no 
cartridges  nearer  than  the  store." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Masterson.  "You  boys 
cover  me,  and  I'll  make  a  dash  for  the  store.  I  want  to 
see  how  they're  getting  on  over  there,  at  that." 

]Mr.  Masterson  went  through  one  of  the  eighteen-inch 
openings.  The  distant  Indians  saw  him,  but  appeared 
indifferent.  There  was  a  tall  wall  of  mud  between  the 
store  and  Mr.  Hanrahan's  saloon.  There  was  a  gate,  but 
that  had  been  closed  and  locked  by  Baldy  Smith.     Mr. 


INEZ  OF  THE  'DOBE  WALLS  75 

Masterson's  plan  was  to  crawl  under  the  gate,  being  in- 
vited by  an  open  space  of  at  least  a  foot.  It  was  better 
than  climbing;  were  he  to  do  the  latter  some  far-off 
lucky  savage  might  manage  a  cock-shot  of  him  as  he 
went  over  the  top. 

As  Mr.  Masterson  stooped  to  dive  beneath  the  gate, 
he  shouted  loudly  to  those  in  the  store.  He  had  no  de- 
sire to  be  mowed  down  by  his  friends,  upon  a  notion  that 
he  was  some  enterprising  Indian,  piercing  their  defences. 
At  Mr.  Masterson's  shout,  a  wounded  Indian,  who  was 
lying  low  in  a  clump  of  weeds,  sat  up  and  with  the  utmost 
good  will  pumped  three  bullets  at  him  from  a  Spencer 
seven-shooter.  The  bullets  chucked  into  a  pile  of  chips, 
heaped  up  where  the  cook  was  wont  to  chop  his  fire  wood. 
They  buried  the  crawling  Mr.  Masterson  beneath  a 
shower  of  bark  and  chips  and  splinters,  but  did  no  harm. 

Mr.  Masterson's  feelings  were  rufHed  by  the  shower  of 
chips.  On  reaching  the  store,  his  first  care  was  to  bor- 
row a  rifle,  poke  a  hole  in  the  mud  wall  and  quiet  that 
uneasy  personage  in  weedy  ambuscade. 

"I  don't  wa.nt  him  whanging  away  at  me  on  my  re- 
turn," explained  INIr.  INIasterson. 

There  were  five  in  the  store.  Young  Thurston  had 
been  shot  through  the  lungs.  His  days  were  down  to 
minutes  ;  parched  with  the  death-fever,  he  lay  calling  for 
water. 


76  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

There  was  no  well  in  the  store  as  in  the  fore- 
thoughtful Mr.  Hanrahan's  saloon.  The  store  pump 
was  fifty  yards  away  in  the  stark,  undefended  open. 

"I  reckon  now,"  said  Daddy  Keeler,  "I'll  go  fetch  a 
bucketful.  I'm  the  gent  to  go,  because  my  eyes  are  too 
old  and  dim  to  do  anytliing  at  six  hundred  yards.  I'd 
just  waste  cartridges." 

Daddy  Keeler  was  called  Daddy  Keeler  fo?  two  rea- 
sons. For  one  matter,  he  had  passed  sixty  years ;  and 
for  another,  everybody  loved  him.  In  the  West  when  a 
man  is  loved  they  give  him  a  nickname. 

Also,  there  are  no  struggles  for  precedence  in  the 
West.  Each  man  plays  his  part  in  peace  or  war  as  best 
dovetails  with  his  pleasure.  Not  one  in  the  beleaguered 
store  would  have  hesitated  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  those 
savage  rifles  to  bring  water  to  3'oung  Thurston  as  he 
died.  Yet  not  one  would  offer  to  take  the  place  of 
Daddy  Keeler.  To  do  so  would  have  been  in  violation 
of  Panhandle  proprieties,  and  Daddy  Keeler  would  have 
resented  it  to  the  death. 

Daddy  Keeler  took  a  bucket  and  tossed  it  through  an 
opening.  For  all  his  years  and  hair  of  gray,  he  was  as 
active  as  a  cat.  He  made  no  task  of  sliding  through  the 
opening  after  the  bucket.  The  four  who  remained 
stood  ready,  should  the  sight  of  him  cause  a  rush  to 
cut  liim  off.     As,  bucket  in  hand,  he  started  for  tlie 


INEZ  OF  THE  'DOBE  WALLS  77 

pump,  a  frigktened  dog,  in  liiding  behind  a  heap  of 
lumber,  came  forth  and  followed  whiningly. 

The  savages  were  not  slow  in  getting  to  work.  They 
didn't  charge:  their  stomachs  were  too  weary  for  that. 
But  their  rifles  cracked  by  twos  and  tens  and  twenties. 
The  bullets  zipped  and  whistled  as  thick  as  twilight  bats. 

The  pump  was  sun-dried  and  slow ;  it  cost  two  minutes 
to  start  the  water  from  the  cracked  spout,  and  five  to 
fill  the  bucket.  Smack !  smack !  the  pump  was  struck 
a  dozen  times,  while  in  twenty  places  the  well-plat- 
form was  rasped  or  wliitely  splintered  by  the  flying 
lead. 

Daddy  Keeler  pumped  doggedly,  and  never  raised  his 
head;  the  creaking  of  the  pump-handle  matched  with 
the  low  howling  of  the  frightened  dog.  Daddy  Keeler's 
sombrero  went  whirling,  the  dog  was  shot  down  at  his 
feet;  still  he  pumped  on.  The  bucket  at  last  was  filled. 
Daddy  Keeler  picked  up  his  hat  and  fixed  it  on  his  head. 
Then  he  brought  the  bucket  and  passed  it  through  the 
opening  without  spilling  a  drop.  The  next  moment  he 
had  followed  it,  and  never  a  mark  upon  him. 

"It's  some  hot  out  thar  in  the  sun,"  said  Daddy  Keeler, 
apologetically,  wiping  the  great  drops  from  his  fore- 
head. Then  taking  off  his  sombrero,  and  considering 
the  double  hole  the  bullet  had  left :  "It  was  a  forty-four 
did  that ;  some  of  'em's  shootin'  Winchesters." 


78  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

For  fourteen  long,  hot  days  the  fight  went  on  ;  now  and 
then  a  charge,  more  often  long-range  shooting,  whereat 
the  buffalo  hunters  excelled.  When  the  fight  flagged  the 
garrison  played  poker,  leaving  one  to  watch. 

Every  night  one-half  the  garrison  must  dig  graves  for 
the  dead — pony  and  Indian  alike.  The  argument  for 
these  sexton  labours  was  sanitary,  not  sentimental.  In 
the  blinding  height  of  a  Panhandle  summer  it  is  no  good 
thing  to  be  cordoned  about  with  dead  ponies  and  dead 
Indians.  There  was  never  a  danger;  your  savage  lies 
close,  and  will  not  move  in  the  dark  unless  one  crowd  liim. 
He  is  so  much  the  Partliian  that  it  is  against  his  religion 
to  fight  in  the  night. 

Before  the  burial  parties  tumbled  an  Indian  into  his 
sepulchre,  they  were  at  pains  to  have  his  scalp  as  an  in- 
contestable method  of  keeping  accounts.  On  the  fif- 
teenth day,  when  the  troops  from  Dodge  relieved  the 
siege,  there  were  eighty  topknots  to  tell  the  loss  of  the 
enemy. 

Inez,  when  the  fighting  fell  to  long-range,  cried  to 
be  lifted  from  her  box.  Inez  did  not  fear  bullets  ;  arrows 
were  a  different  commodity  and  set  her  nerves  on  edge. 
She  could  see  them ;  besides,  they  smelled  fearfully  of 
Indians.  As  long  as  no  arrow  came  spitting  and  splin- 
tering through  the  openings,  Inez  was  without  a  care. 
She  would  have  been  content  were  it  not  for  her  rations 


l^^EZ  OF  THE  'DOBE  WALLS  79 

of  merely  bread  and  water.  This  she  thought  squinted 
at  parsimony,  and  it  aroused  her  spleen. 

When  the  cavalry  came  riding  down  from  Dodge  the 
beaten  remnant  of  that  war  party  went  squattering 
through  the  shallow  reaches  of  the  Canadian,  and  headed 
south  for  the  Staked  Plains.  Then  the  visiting  Osages 
and  Pawnees,  pipe  in  hand  and  blankets  wrapped  about 
them,  came  beamingly  from  their  audience  hill  to  offer 
congratulations. 

"How!"  said  Black  Feather,  the  Osage  chief,  extend- 
ing his  hand  to  Mv.  Wright.     "How !     Heep  big  fight!'* 

Then  Black  Feather  went  over  the  four  score  scalps, 
and  whether  by  tint  of  plume  or  mark  of  braid,  hidden  to 
the  white  man,  confidently  told  the  tribe  of  each. 

"Comanche!"  grunted  Black  Feather,  picking  up  a 
scalp ;  and  then :  "Kiowa,  Chej-enne,  Arrapahoe,"  as  he 
pawed  the  others  over  one  by  one. 

"Who  were  right  In  this  shindy .?"  asked  the  captain  of 
cavalry. 

That  officer  was  curious  to  hear  what  Black  Feather 
would  say  to  the  question.  Black  Feather,  who  believed 
firmly  in  the  equities  of  force,  did  not  hesitate. 

"White  man  right,"  said  he.  "The  longest  lance  is 
right." 

What  of  that  mysterious  bugle,  whereof  the  music  so 
shook  the  men  of  buflPaloes?     It  v/as  blown  by  a  caitiff 


80  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

negro,  a  deserter  from  Uncle  Sam's  swart  cavalry.  The 
third  charge  was  the  black  bugler's  last.  Striped  and 
painted  like  the  others,  the  burial  party  might  never  have 
known  the  race  or  colour  of  him  had  it  not  been  for  his 
want  of  a  scalp  lock.  They  took  his  bugle  instead,  and 
rolled  him  into  the  trench  with  the  others. 

"By  the  way,  Bat,"  remarked  Mr.  Wright,  when  two 
days  after  the  fight,  life  at  the  'Dobe  Walls  had  gone 
back  to  old-time  lines,  "we  forgot  to  thank  you  for 
seeing  those  Indians  that  time.  They'd  have  cinched 
us,  sure,  if  you  hadn't ;  killed  us,  as  it  were,  on  the  nest. 
It  ain't  too  late  to  take  a  drink  on  it,  is  it?" 

"The  drink  goes,"  returned  Mr.  Masterson,  drawing 
up  to  Mr.  Hanrahan's  counter,  which  was  again  happily 
in  its  place ;  "the  drink  goes,  but  it  ought  to  be  for  Inez. 
It  was  she  who  gave  warning.  If  it  hadn't  been  for 
Inez  every  man  of  us  would  have  gone  with  Thurston, 
and  those  eighty  bucks  might  be  riding  yet.  It  was 
pretty  work.  Bob,  to  stand  off  five  hundred  Indians  four- 
teen days,  and  only  lose  one  man  against  their  eighty." 
Here  Inez  came  mincingly  through  the  door,  like  a  fine 
lady  thinking  on  her  skirts.  She  nosed  up  to  Mr.  Mas- 
terson for  a  caress.  "That's  right,"  said  Mr.  Master- 
son,  patting  her  satin  neck,  "you're  just  in  time,  Lady- 
bird. We're  going  to  drink  to  the  White  Man's  Medi- 
cine, Inez,  of  the  'Dobe  Walls." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  WILD  ROSE  OF  THE  CANADIAN. 

jHE  town's  name  was  Mobeetie  and,  for  the  ex- 
pansive suddenness  of  its  springing  up,  might 
better  have  been  Mushroom.  A  Cheyenne  killed 
a  buffalo  in  the  flats  that  stretch  from  the  Canadian,  and 
as  he  peeled  the  husk  from  that  buffalo  the  nearest  pale- 
face was  thirty  miles  away.  The  next  day  came  en- 
gineers, and  ran  lines  and  mapped  out  town  lots  on  the 
ground  where  that  buffalo  was  slain  ;  within  a  week  there- 
after Mobeetie  buzzed  and  bustled. 

]Mr.  Masterson,  ever  full  of  the  spirit  of  progress, 
gave  up  buffalo  hunting  for  the  nonce,  and  carried 
"chain"  and  pegged  corners,  and  did  what  other  deeds 
an  amateur  might  do  towards  aiding  the  surveyors  in 
laying  out  Mobeetie.  Later,  he  aided  the  public  in  lay- 
ing out  certain  predatory  characters  who  from  time  to 
time  rode  into  Mobeetie  with  a  purpose  of  spoil.     These 

81 


82  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

latter  intermittent  lifts  to  law  and  order  endeared  Mr. 
Masterson  to  Mobeetie ;  the  more  since  he  was  not,  speak- 
ing strictly,  a  resident  of  that  hamlet,  having  lus  roofless 
habitat  on  the  buffalo  range,  with  a  home-camp  at  the 
'Dobe  Walls. 

All  folk,  whether  they  be  white  or  black  or  red  or 
wheat-hued,  are  idolators  in  their  hearts,  and  those  of 
Mobeetie  worshipped  MolUe  Brennan.  The  women  wor- 
shipped her  because  her  little  feet  took  hold  on  innocence, 
the  men  for  the  beauty  of  her  face — for  brown  of  cheek, 
and  red  of  hp,  and  with  eyes  as  softly,  gently  deep  as  are 
those  of  an  antelope,  Mollie  Brennan  was  beautiful.  To 
her  worshippers  Mollie  Brennan  was  known  as  The  Wild 
Rose,  and  the  name  had  been  given  her  after  this  fasliion : 

Misled  by  drink,  a  chance-blown  poet  once  upon  a 
time  invaded  the  Panhandle.  Beholding  Mollie  Bren- 
nan, he  fell  in  love,  as  poets  will,  and  sighed  on  her  ob- 
durate trail  for  a  wasted  twelve-month.  Because  she 
would  not  listen,  the  poet  poured  forth  his  soul  in  son- 
nets, in  which  vehicle  of  verse  he  identified  Mollie  Bren- 
nan as  "The  Wild  Rose  of  the  Canadian."  There  were 
no  wild  roses  along  the  Canadian,  at  least  in  any  near 
vicinity  of  Mobeetie,  but  the  love-wrung  bard,  more 
moved  of  the  whiskey  than  the  flora  of  the  region,  re- 
fused to  be  bound  by  that  barrenness.  "The  Wild  Rose" 
he  made  it;  and,  since  his  stanzas  were  granted  local 


THE  WILD  ROSE  OF  THE  CANADIAN     83 

hearing,  the  Wild  Rose  it  became,  and  Mollie  Brennan 
accepted  and  wore  the  title  pleasantly  enough. 

But  the  Wild  Rose  resolutely  declined  the  hand  of 
that  poet;  and  because  she  would  not  hear  him  and  he 
must  tell  some  one,  he  was  wont,  after  the  fifth  cup,  to 
sob  forth  his  soul  and  its  defeat  to  the  frequenters  of  the 
Lady  Gay  saloon.  The  defeat  gave  general  satisfac- 
tion, for  Mobeetie  distrusted  if  it  did  not  disapprove  of 
poets,  and  in  that  harsh  hour  the  Panhandle  thought 
better  of  a  Sharp's  rifle  than  of  a  sonnet.  The  poet,  in 
a  lucid  moment,  perceived  as  much,  and,  every  hope  of 
conquering  the  callous  fancy  of  the  Wild  Rose  having 
died,  he  got  aboard  the  stage-coach  for  Dodge,  bearing 
with  him  a  bottle  and  a  broken  heart.  His  going  was 
regretted  at  the  Lady  Gay,  but  the  Wild  Rose  felt  re- 
lieved. 

Sergeant  King  was  so  early  in  his  coming  to  Mobeetie 
as  to  be  almost  entitled  to  fame  as  one  of  its  founders. 
Nor  did  the  fact  go  without 'a  value,  since  nothing  but 
that  residential  antiquity  had  saved  him  from  being 
warned  to  quit  the  town  a  dozen  times. 

Mobeetie  confessed  to  no  love  for  Sergeant  King.  He 
was  dark  of  brow,  with  cruel  mouth  and  furtive  secret 
eye.  He  had  been  run  out  of  Abilene,  as  the  upshot  of 
an  enterprise  wherein  he  combined  a  six-shooter  with  a 
deck  of  cards — the  latter  most  improperly  marked — and 


84  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

whicli  resulted  in  tlie  demise  of  a  gentleman  then  and 
there  playing  draw-poker  against  him.  Also,  he  was 
that  creature — most  detested  and  soonest  to  die  in  the 
^Vest — a  blusterer  and  a  bully ;  and  when  a  bit  unbuckled 
of  rum  he  would  boast  of  the  blood  he  had  spilled. 

This  latter  relaxation  is  exceeding  bad  form.  Mo- 
beetie  could  have  overlooked  the  marked  cards,  since  it  is 
understood  in  the  West  that  every  gentleman,  in  what 
games  of  chance  engage  his  interest,  must  be  equal  to  his 
own  protection  or  suffer  those  forfeits  which  nature 
everywhere  imposes  upon  ignorance  gone  astray ;  it 
might  have  condoned  the  homicide,  because,  teclinically, 
it  was  a  killing  rather  than  a  murder,  and  departed  wore 
his  hardware  at  the  time;  even  those  hang-dog  facial 
marks  of  an  innate  treachery  would  have  passed  unchal- 
lenged, for  who  may  help  his  looks?  but  that  braggart 
trick  of,  orally,  reviewing  what  scalps  he  had  taken,  and 
exulting  thereat,  set  public  sentiment  flowing  against 
Sergeant  King  to  such  a  height  of  disfavour  that  no  one 
wanted  his  company  and  but  few  liis  gold.  This  last 
should  be  the  measure  of  an  utter  public  disregard  for, 
however  blackly  hated  your  outlaw  villain  may  be,  his 
gold,  as  a  rule,  partakes  in  no  wise  of  his  unpopularity. 
For  what  says  Vespasian.''  "The  smell  of  all  money  is 
sweet." 

Following  her  Inadvertent  conquest  of  the  poet,  and 


THE  WILD  ROSE  OF  THE  CANADIAN      So 

liis  broken-hearted  dismissal  to  Dodge,  Sergeant  King 
was  that  one  who  gave  to  the  Wild  Rose  what  he  would 
have  called  his  heart.  The  gift  bred  an  alarm  in  her 
bosom  beyond  any  induced  by  the  rhyming  passion  of 
the  sonnetteer.  Whereas  the  poet  had  only  annoyed  her, 
she  drew  back  frightened  in  the  base  instance  of  Sergeant 
King.  He  saw  and  understood,  and  the  bitterness  which 
lay  hke  poison  at  the  bottom  of  his  evil  heart  was  stirred. 

Every  resident  of  IMobeetie,  in  an  hour  devoid  of  con- 
vention, was  the  acquaintance,  if  not  the  friend,  of  every 
other  resident  of  tliat  metropolis  by  dint  of  a  citizen- 
ship common  to  both,  and  Sergeant  King  was  there- 
fore an  acquaintance  of  the  Wild  Rose.  However,  what 
few  words  he  addressed  to  her  never  went  beyond  the 
commonplace;  warned  as  by  intuition  of  her  aversion,  he 
offered  no  syllable  of  love.  But  his  eyes,  black,  and 
burning  with  a  hungry  fire — half-hidden,  half-bursting 
into  flame — made  no  secret  of  those  sentiments  that  had 
swTept  down  Sergeant  King;  the  Wild  Rose  could  feel 
their«glances  play  about  her  like  a  tongue  of  fire.  There 
it  stopped;  if  he  possessed  a  hope  of  winning  her,  he 
never  made  it  manifest — coming  near  her  only  with  his 
eyes! 

You  are  not  to  suppose  that  the  Wild  Rose  went  un- 
touched of  love.  When  a  maiden  refuses  one  man,  it  is 
a  reason  for  believing  she  has  given  herself  to  some  one 


86  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

else.  Mobeetie  liad  f^rown  up  a  brisk  three  hours'  can- 
ter from  the  'Dobe  Walls,  and  ]Mr.  Masterson  was  fre- 
quently about  its  causeways.  Buffalo  hunting  would 
wax  monotonous  betimes,  and  in  what  moments  15;  palled 
upon  him  Mr.  Masterson  unbent  in  visits  to  Mobeetie. 
Thus  the  Wild  Rose  caught  frequent  glimpses  of  him, 
and  the  heart  which  had  refused  the  poet,  and  was  closed 
fast  and  fear-locked  against  Sergeant  King,  went  fol- 
lowing INIr.  ^Masterson  with  its  love.  The  Wild  Rose 
learned  to  know  the  very  jingle  of  his  spurs,  and  their 
melody  about  the  board  sidewalks  of  Mobeetie  would 
bring  her  face  to  the  pane. 

Once,  the  Wild  Rose  met  Mr.  ]\Iasterson  as  he  emerged 
from  the  Santa  Ana  restaurant,  to  which  place  of  re- 
fection he  had  been  drawn  in  favour  of  flapjjjtcks,  and 
the  blush  that  spread  redly  over  her  cheek  would  have 
told  tales  to  one  more  g*ifted  of  self-concoit.  The 
tender  truth  missed  fire;  Mr.  Masterson,  if  he  nursed 
opinions  on  the  point  at  all,  held  by  a  theory  that 
love  ought  to  be  confined  to  the  East  as  a  region 
endowed  of  what  leisure  was  demanded  by  its  pur- 
suit. When  the  Wild  Rose  swept  him  softly,  and  thea 
let  fall  those  lids  in  fear  lest  the  modest  hazel  depths 
give  up  their  blissful  secret,  his  mind  was  on  Cheyennes, 
and  how  far  his  raid  on  Bear  Shield's  ponies  one  Christ- 
mas Eve  might  have  been  a  source  of  the  recent  uprising 


THE  WILD  ROSE  OF  THE  CANADIAN      8T 

of  that  peevish  people.  lie  escaped  news  of  the  sweet 
story  told  by  those  deep  fringed  eyes,  and  the  Wild  Rose 
had  the  romance  to  herself. 

And  yet,  while  her  soul's  cry  went  unheard  by  Mr. 
Masterson,  it  was  not  to  die  unnoted.  Jealousy  is  more 
alert  than  love,  and  Sergeant  King,  lounging  in  the  door- 
way of  the  Lady  Gay,  surprised  the  look  of  the  Wild 
Rose,  and  read  its  truth.  The  knowledge  shone  in  upon 
him  with  a  red  hatefulness  that  was  as  a  ray  from  the 
pit.  The  love  which  had  fled  from  him  would  follow 
another — unsought  and  uninvited ! 

Like  an  icicle  the  thought  pierced  through  and 
through  the  soul  of  Sergeant  King.  Wanting  the  touch 
of  a  jealous  spur,  he  might  have  loved  on  for  unresentful 
3-ears,  passively  enduring  the  coldness  which  was  his  re- 
ward. But  that  Mr.  Masterson  should  have  the  Wild 
Rose  aroused  in  him  a  mindless  fury  that  was  like  unto 
the  blind  anger  of  an  animal.  Even  his  vanity  arose  to 
edge  the  sense  of  loss  and  sharpen  him  for  retaliation. 

At  the  rough  seminary  wherein  Sergeant  King  had 
been  reared  blood  was  taught  as  that  one  reprisal  worth 
the  while  of  a  man,  and  death  and  vengeance  were  set 
side  by  side  as  synonyms.  To  determine  on  the  taking 
off  of  Mr.  Masterson  was  the  one  thing  natural.  It 
called  for  no  motion  of  the  intelligence;  the  resolution 
leaped  instantly  into  being  as  the  fruit  of  what  he  saw 


88  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

and  what  he  felt.  His  enemy  must  die,  and  the  sole 
question  that  invited  pause  was:  How  might  that 
enemy  be  blotted  out  with  least  risk  to  himself?  He  re- 
tired into  an  uttermost  corner  of  the  Lady  Gay  to  con- 
sider and  la}^  out  his  dark  campaign. 

Such  as  Sergeant  King  are  unequal  to  sure  bloodshed 
unless  their  nerves  are  stiffened  by  alcohol,  and  he  caused 
a  bottle  to  be  brought  to  his  elbow  to  assist  his  cogita- 
tions. He  put  away  glass  after  glass,  for — as  those 
mule-skinners  freighting  between  jNIobeetie  and  Dodge 
would  have  phrased  it — he  "wasn't  able  to  start  such  a 
load  as  Bat  Masterson  on  a  cold  collar.'* 

While  Sergeant  King  was  thus  employed  in  bringing 
about  that  needed  temperature,  as  though  Fate  were  de- 
livering his  victim  into  his  clutch,  Mr.  Masterson  with 
Mr.  Dixon  came  into  the  Ladj''  Gay.  The  two  sat  at  a 
table  just  across  from  Sergeant  King. 

It  was  a  big  day  for  the  Lady  Gay ;  the  tides  of 
custom  had  risen  to  unusual  heights.  There  were  a  busy 
dozen  about  the  faro  table,  which  stood  at  the  end  of  the 
bar ;  an  equal  number  bent  noisily  over  monte,  the  latter 
diversion  being  dealt  b}'  a  careworn  Mexican,  who  looked 
as  though  luck  were  against  him.  In  the  far  end  a  se- 
date poker  game  prevailed. 

To  every  man  his  interest;  with  two-score  folk  in  the 
Lady  Gay,  no  one  observed  the  sombre  Sergeant  King, 


THE  WILD  ROSE  OF  THE  CANADIAN      89 

brooding  schemes  of  blood.  A  Mexican  lost  his  last 
peso  at  monte,  and  drew  out  of  the  eager  fringe  about 
the  table.  Sergeant  King  called  him  with  a  motion 
of  his  hand.  The  Mexican  approached,  received  the 
whispered  directions,  took  the  gold  piece  tendered,  and 
disappeared.  By  the  time  Sergeant  King  had  taken 
anotlier  drink  the  Mexican  led  up  his  pony?  saddled  and 
bridled,  to  the  door  of  the  Lady  Gay  and  stood  holding 
it  by  the  bits,  awaiting  the  murderous  convenience  of  its 
owner.  Plainly  Sergeant  King  was  opening  a  gate  for 
final  flight. 

There  be  many  species  of  courage;  there  are  day 
courage  and  night  courage,  water  courage  and  land 
courage,  gun  courage  and  knife  courage,  with  forty 
further  courages  beside.  And,  when  you  have  settled 
its  sort,  there  remains  the  matter  of  comparison.  There 
is  a  courage  bom  of  caution  ;  it  is  fed  and  led  by  caution, 
and  runs  by  its  side  like  a  calf  by  the  side  of  the  mother- 
cow.  There  is  another  courage,  whitely  desperate, 
which  owns  no  element  of  prudence,  and  against  which 
no  odds  prevail. 

Once  in  the  Panhandle — he  may  be  there  to-day — 
there  lived  a  personage  of  cows  whose  name  was  Old  Tom 
Harris.  I  have  referred  to  tliis  worthy  man  before. 
He  numbered  but  thirty  years,  and  the  epithet  of  "Old'* 
was  a  title  of  endearment  which  his  mates  of  rope  and 


90  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

running-iron  had  conferred  upon  him  to  mark  their  ad- 
miration of  his  arctic  dauntlessness  of  heart.  Mr.  Will- 
ingham,  sheriff,  having  official  reason  so  to  do,  aimed 
his  six-shooter  at  Old  Tom  Harris  when  the  latter's  back 
was  turned.  Then  he  called  upon  him  to  hold  up  his 
hands.  Old  Tom  Harris  came  'round  on  his  heel,  but 
he  did  not  throw  up  his  hands.  Looking  into  the  point- 
blank  mouth  of  the  Willingham  pistol,  he  pulled  liis  own. 
Then  he  laid  it,  muzzle  for  muzzle,  with  the  opposing 
piece  of  ordnance,  and  defied  Mr.  Willingham  to  begin 
his  blazing  work. 

"You  haven't  the  sand  to  shoot !"  said  Old  Tom  Har- 
ris. 

And  jNIr.  Willingham  hadn't. 

It  might  bear  suggestion  that  the  courage  of  Sergeant 
King  was  caution-bom.  With  seven  chances  in  his 
favour  where  his  enemy  possessed  but  three  he  would 
offer  battle.  With  chances  even  he  would  be  more  dis- 
creet. ]Mr.  Masterson's  courage  was  of  the  Old  Tom 
Harris  stamp. 

The  Mexican  stood  at  the  door  of  the  Lady  Gay,  hold- 
ing the  pony  of  Sergeant  King.  Suddenly,  above 
the  hubbub  of  the  games,  arose  the  voice  of  that  un- 
worthy. 

"Thar's  a  hoss  thief  here  I'd  like  to  kill !" 

In  the  hush  that  followed  every  eye  went  nervously 


THE  WILD  ROSE  OF  THE  CANADIAN      91 

seeking  the  speaker.  He  stood  erect,  his  six-shooter  in 
his  right  hand  and  hanging  by  liis  side. 

It  would  have  been  wiser,  from  the  standpoint  of  his 
'  enterprise,  you  will  say,  had  Sergeant  King  gone  in- 
stantly and  wordlessly  to  work;  you  will  condemn  the 
oratory  as  marking  a  lack  of  military  intelligence. 

There  was  a  reason  for  the  rhetoric  of  Sergeant 
King.  The  rules  to  govern  Western  gun-play  do  not 
permit  the  shooting  of  one's  enemy  in  the  back.  It 
is  one's  notifying  duty  to  arouse  him.  Once  he  be 
on  liis  guard,  and  reaching  for  his  artillery,  one  is 
licensed  to  begin  his  downfall.  A  violation  of  tliese 
laws  leads  to  a  vigilance  committee,  a  rope,  and  a  near- 
est tree. 

Sergeant  King  was  aware  of  these  courtesies  of  the 
gun  and  what  public  resentment  would  attend  their  viola- 
tion. Wherefore,  and  that  the  proprieties  related  might 
be  appeased,  he  shouted: 

"Thar's  a  boss  thief  here  I'd  like  to  kill." 

Mr.  Masterson  was  in  no  wise  a  friend  of  Sergeant 
King,  and  yet  he  would  not  have  called  himself  that  per- 
son's enemy.  He  quietly  distasted,  and  as  quietly  failed, 
to  be  on  nearer  than  nodding  terms  with  him.  Also,  he 
distrusted  the  fortitude  of  Sergeant  King  as  neither 
granite-bedded  nor  iron-bound. 

"I  once,"  observed  Mr.  Masterson,  in  later  exposition 


92  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

of  that  courage  of  Sergeant  King,  and  his  estimate 
thereof;  "I  once  saw  him  jump  over  a  counter  to  get  at 
a  party,  wlien  lie  might  as  well  have  gone  'round,  and 
the  episode  struck  me  as  too  dramatic.  From  that  mo- 
ment I  knew  the  Sergeant  wasn't  clean  strain  game." 

There  is  a  telepathy  of  the  guns.  This  v/as  once 
shown  when  Clay  Allison — but  that  comes  later;  let 
us  return  to  the  Lady  Gay.  With  the  first  war- 
shout,  the  experienced  intuition  of  what  portion  of  the 
Mobeetie  public  was  then  gathered  in  the  Lady  Gay, 
went  wholly  aware  that  the  feud  of  Sergeant  King  was 
addressed  solely  to  Mr.  Masterson.  Not  a  whit  behind 
the  public  in  the  feather-edged  character  of  his  appre- 
hension, jMr.  Masterson  was  likewise  made  aware  of  it. 
In  logical  retort  and  with  the  promptness  of  light,  he 
kicked  his  chair  from  beneath  him  and  arose  to  his  feet. 

"I  reckon  I'm  the  horse  thief  you  refer  to,"  said  Mr. 
Masterson,  and  Avhen  he  said  it  his  six-shooter  was  point- 
ing squarely  at  the  plotting  head  of  Sergeant  King. 

You  have  read  of  such  a  commodity  as  fascination, 
and  that  a  sure  nearness  of  death  induces  trance.  It  is 
the  bird  with  the  serpent,  the  mouse  with  the  cat.  It  is 
also  the  palsied  truth  of  divers  men  when  brought  within 
touch  of  cold  eternity. 

Of  those  who  congeal  at  sight  of  death  was  Sergeant 
King.     He  had  performed  with  reckless  valour,  as  he 


THE  WILD  ROSE  OF  THE  CANADIAN     93 

would  have  held  it,  on  twenty  smoke-swept  fields,  and 
more  than  once  had  killed  his  man.  What  was  it  now 
that  froze  him  motionless  ?  As  lie  looked  into  the  mouth 
of  that  Colt's-45,  and  beheld  the  gray  fire  in  the  eye  be- 
yond, for  the  earliest  time  he  felt  the  clutch  of  the  grave 
upon  him.  It  left  him  still  as  stone;  his  heart  became 
water,  his  cheek  clay. 

There  was  a  chill  pause — a  silence  as  of  the  tomb! 
You  might  have  heard  the  heart-beats  of  the  IMobeetie 
public  as,  strung  like  a  bow,  it  waited  on  the  fatal  crash. 

Four  seconds  went  ticking  into  the  past ;  their  passing 
was  as  the  passing  of  four  ages.  Mr.  Masterson,  with 
unwavering  muzzle  and  unblinking  eye,  began  slowly 
closing  in  on  Sergeant  King,  who  remained  as  though 
planet-struck. 

The  slow  advance  continued  until  the  pistol  of  Mr. 
Masterson  was  within  an  inch  of  the  transfixed  face. 
Then,  with  the  abruptness  of  a  shot,  Mr.  Masterson  let 
down  the  hammer  of  his  weapon,  and  with  it  smote  the 
other  on  the  head.  It  was  a  downright,  crushing  blow, 
and  only  the  good  thickness  of  the  skull  of  Sergeant 
King  saved  him  from  anniliilation.  He  dropped  like 
some  log  of  Avood — his  pistol  falling  from  his  fingers 
and  rattling  on  the  board  floor  of  the  Lady  Gay.  As 
Mr.  Masterson  replaced  his  own  weapon  in  his  belt,  he 
kicked  that  of  Sergeant  King  into  a  nook  of  safety. 


94  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

"It's  the  notion  of  jNIobectie,"  explained  Mr.  Dixon 
to  Sergeant  King,  when  thirty  minutes  later  tlie  latter 
was  mentally  fit  to  grasp  a  warning,  "it's  the  notion  of 
Mobeetle  that  you'd  better  pull  your  freight.  Here''s 
your  gun,  thar's  your  hoss ;  an'  if  3'ou've  got  a  lick  of 
savey,  by  noon  to-morry  you'll  be  either  in  Tascosa,  Fort  i 
Elliot  or  Fort  Sill.  Any  one  of  'em's  a  heap  healthier 
than  Mobeetle,  which  for  you  at  least  might  be  deescribed 
as  a  mighty  sickly  camp." 

It  has  been  explained  that  although  from  Boston  Mr. 
Dixon  had  fallen  from  those  heights  of  strictest  English 
to  which  he  had  been  lifted  by  education  into  the  shp- 
shod  accent  of  the  Brazos. 

The  long  speech  of  Mr.  Dixon's,  however,  was  not 
thrown  away ;  without  a  word,  and  reeling  a  bit  in  the 
saddle  with  the  blur  that  still  hung  like  a  cloud  across  liis 
faculties,  Sergeant  King  rode  off  to  the  west.  As  he 
disappeared  where  the  trail  led  over  a  low  hill  Mr.  Dixon 
nodded  a  foreboding  head. 

"Bat  ought  to  have  downed  him,"  observed  Mr.  Dixon 
to  those  several  members  of  the  body  politic  assem- 
bled to  witness  the  exodus  of  Sergeant  King;  "Bat 
ought  to  have  downed  him.  However,  he's  makin' 
for  Tascosa,  an'  if  he'll  only  open  his  system  on  that 
outfit,  you  can  bet  Bob  Pierce  or  Jim  East'll  bump  him 
off." 


THE  WILD  ROSE  OF  THE  CANADIAN     95 

"That's  whatever!"  assented  one  of  Mr.  Dixon's 
hearers. 

The  incident  was  over,  and  with  frank  accord,  one  and 
all,  they  returned  to  the  Lady  Gay,  and  by  second  drink- 
time  in  the  evening — to  employ  a  Panhandle  method  of 
marking  the  flight  of  time — the  affair,  as  being  dull  and 
commonplace  in  its  finale,  was  quite  forgot.  Had  Mr. 
Masterson  emptied  his  Colt's-45  into  the  head  or  the 
heart  of  Sergeant  King  the  pubHc  would  have  talked  of 
it  for  a  day. 

It  was  nine  of  the  moonless  night  and  Mobeetie's  citi- 
zens for  the  greater  part  were  gathered  in  store  or  bar 
or  what  other  emporium  best  attracted  their  favour. 
There  were  no  street  lamps  and  the  streets  were  almost 
deserted,  since  no  one  cared  at  risk  of  shin  to  blunder 
and'stumble  in  the  dark. 

One  figure  there  was,  however,  which,  avoiding  the 
glare  from  front  windows,  stood  watcliing  in  the  sliad- 
ows  of  the  Lady  Gay.  The  Lady  Gay  occupied  the 
corner  of  two  streets,  and  the  lurking  one  was  leaning 
against  the  side  of  that  temple  of  chance.  Within  stretch 
of  his  hand  was  a  small  door,  meant  to  supplement  the 
front  doors  in  event  of  a  crowd. 

Now  the  situation  had  its  peculiar,  not  to  say  suspi- 
cious, side.  Had  you  entered  the  Lady  Gay  you  might 
have  seen  that  Mr,  Masterson,  with  two  or  three  about 


96  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

liiiii,  was  sitting  within  touch  of  that  small  door.  Had 
you  returned  to  the  lurking  one  without,  and  struck  a 
match,  you  would  have  identified  him  as  Sergeant  King. 
From  where  he  stood,  with  ear  pressed  close  to  the  thin 
board  wall  of  the  Lady  Gay,  he  could  hear  the  voice  of 
Mr.  Masterson.     It  was  by  ear  he  had  located  him. 

Sergeant  King  had  returned  for  that  revenge  now 
twice  his  due.  He  lacked  the  cliilled-steel  courage  to 
invade  the  Lady  Gay;  to  shoot  through  the  pasteboard 
side  of  the  structure,  and  try  to  kill  by  ear,  was  nothing 
sure ;  the  best  that  Sergeant  King  might  do  was  wait  and 
watch.  Mayhap  in  the  chapter  of  accidents  it  had  been 
written  that  Mr.  Masterson  would  open  the  little  door 
and  furnish  him  the  opportunity  for  which  liis  black 
soul  panted. 

Mr.  Kimball,  the  blacksmith,  had  discounted  his  social 
position  by  marrying  a  Mexican  woman ;  that  was  years 
before.  Now  Mr.  Kimball's  Mexican  wife  was  ill,  and 
the  Wild  Rose,  who  cared  nothing  for  caste  under 
circumstances  of  sympathy,  was  nursing  her.  Some- 
thing was  wanted  from  the  drug  store,  not  two  blocks 
away,  and  the  Wild  Rose  went  in  quest  of  it.  She  took  i 
a  lantern  to  guide  her  Httle  feet. 

Sergeant  King,  ambushed  in  the  shadows  of  the  Lady 
Gay,  saw  the  Wild  Rose  coming  down  the  walk  and  knew 
her  as  the  lantern-flare  shone  once  upon  her  pretty  face. 


THE  WILD  ROSE  OF  THE  CANADIAN     97 

There  was  enough  of  cjoiic  humour  in  the  sinister  depths 
of  Sergeant  King  to  half  curl  his  lips  with  a  smile.  Here 
was  a  two-edged  vengeance!  He  would  have  the  Wild 
Rose  call  forth  ]Mr.  Masterson  and  then  slay  him  before 
her  eyes  that  loved  him. 

Sergeant  King  went  sauntering  to  meet  the  Wild  Rose. 
When  she  beheld  him  she  started ;  he,  on  his  part,  made 
a  motion  as  of  gratified  surprise. 

"Oh,  Miss  Brennan,"  said  he,  "I  was  in  the  Lady  Gay. 
Mr.  Masterson  said  he  wished  to  see  you.  He's  just  in- 
side the  door.  If  you'll  rap  and  call  to  him,  he'll  open 
it." 

The  doubtful  strangeness  of  the  suggestion  and  its 
source  would  have  occurred  even  to  the  innocence  of  the 
Wild  Rose  had  the  name  involved  been  any  other  than 
that  of  Mr.  Masterson.  The  mention  of  liim  swallowed 
up  her  wits,  and,  in  a  fashion  of  love-flutter,  the  Wild 
Rose  hesitated  before  the  little  door. 

"Are  you  sure  he  wanted  me?"  she  faltered. 

"That's  v»'hat  he  said,"  returned  Sergeant  King,  as, 
standing  a  little  to  the  left  and  rear,  he  drew  his  six- 
shooter  from  its  scabbard.  There  would  be  no  oratory 
this  time ;  he  was  not  to  talk  away  another  chance. 

The  Wild  Rose  tapped  timidly  at  the  door. 

"Well?"  cried  a  voice  inside. 

*'Mr.  Masterson,  it's  I.     You  said  vou  wanted  me." 


98  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

The  blushes  of  the  Wild  Rose  were  visible  in  the  dark. 

The  door  was  locked.  There  was  a  turning  of  the 
key ;  the  bolt  was  shot,  and  the  door  swung  open. 

*'I  don't  understand,"  said  Mr.  Masterson,  to  who'n 
the  voice  and  words  of  the  Wild  Rose  had  coine  but 
faintly. 

At  the  opening  of  the  door  Sergeant  King  thrust  aside 
the  Wild  Rose.  Next  came  a  flash  and  a  roar !  There 
could  be  no  talk  of  missing;  the  pistol  was  pressed 
against  the  side  of  Mr.  Masterson.  He  staggered  with 
the  awful  shock  of  it  as  the  lead  tore  through  his  body ; 
but  he  kept  his  feet,  holding  by  the  door. 

There  came  a  second  roar,  a  kind  of  double  roar,  and 
this  time  there  were  two  flashes  instead  of  one.  The 
trained  senses  inside  the  Lady  Gay  averred  later  that 
the  space  to  elapse  between  the  roar  and  the  double  roar 
was  less  than  the  tenth  part  of  a  second. 

However  brief  that  measure  of  time,  it  was  crimson 
with  multiplied  tragedy.  With  the  tliought  of  defending 
her  love,  the  Wild  Rose,  uttering  a  ci-y  of  horror,  and 
clutching  at  the  murderous  pistol,  threw  herself  between 
Sergeant  King  and  i\Ir.  IMasterson.  She  was  a  breath 
too  late  for  the  first ;  the  second,  meant  also  for  her  idol, 
drove  its  way  into  her  young  breast.  The  Wild  Rose 
fell;  at  her  side  fell  Sergeant  King,  snuffed  out  by  the 
unfailing  six-shooter  of  Mr.  Masterson. 


THE  WILD  ROSE  OF  THE  CANADIAN      99 

Hard  hit  as  he  was,  Mr.  ]Masterson  raised  the  Wild 
Rose  in  his  arms.  She  opened  her  brown  eyes,  swimming 
with  love. 

"He  said  you  wanted  me,"  whispered  the  Wild  Rose. 

Mr.  Masterson,  looking  into  the  soft  depths,  saw  that 
love  and  knew  it  for  his  own.  Even  as  he  gazed,  the 
warm  lights  failed  and  faded ;  the  rose  flush  deserted  the 
cheek.  In  the  arms  of  Mr.  Masterson  the  Wild  Rose  lay 
dead. 


CHAPTER  V. 
THE  STRATEGY  OF  MR.  MASTER  SON. 

THIS  came  long  after  the  battle  at  the  'Dobe  Walls, 
and  was  of  the  year  next  before  Dull  Knife,  that 
Red  Richard  of  the  Cheyennes,  with  one  hun- 
dred and  forty-eight  followers,  two-thirds  of  whom  were 
squaws  and  pappooses,  broke  from  the  soldiers  and 
fought  his  way  to  his  old  home  in  the  North,  whipping 
the  cavalry  once,  twice,  thrice ;  yielding  only  and  at  last 
to  the  lying  treachery  of  Red  Cloud  and  his  Sioux  police. 
It  was  a  great  trail  that  last  long  running  fight  of  Dull 
Knife,  and  proved  his  heart  good  and  his  "medicine" 
strong.  Some  one  some  day  ought  to  write  the  story 
liigh  among  the  gallant  deeds  of  men.  However,  here  is 
not  the  place  nor  this  the  time ;  for  what  comes  after  is 
to  be  a  tale  of  stratagem,  not  battle ;  politics,  not  war. 
Commonly  the  face  of  Dodge  was  as  open  and  frank 
and  care-free  as  the  face  of  a  Waterbury  watch.  On  the 
occasion  in  hand  it  wore  a  look  of  occupation  and  serious 

100 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  MR,  MaSTERSON    101 

business.  This  business  expression  vvas  fairly  founded; 
a  sheriff  for  Ford  County  must  be  selected,  the  gentle- 
man who  had  filled  that  post  of  trust  being  undeniably 
dead. 

The  passing  of  that  sheriff  was  curious.  One  morn- 
ing he  rode  forth,  and  fording  the  Arkansas  at  the 
Cimarron  Crossing,  made  south  and  west  for  Sand 
Creek.  And  thereafter  he  never  rode  back.  It  was  un- 
derstood that  he  bore  official  papers  to  serve  upon  a 
certain  miscreant  who  dwelt  on  Sand  Creek.  The  Sand 
Creek  miscreant  having  bought  goods  of  Mr.  Wright, 
later  jeered  at  the  suggestion  that  he  pay,  and  i\Ir, 
Wright  had  been  driven  to  ask  aid  of  the  law. 

Three  days  after  the  sheriff  splashed  through  the 
Cimarron  Crossing  his  pony  was  picked  up  by  cow 
people,  saddled,  bridled,  and  in  the  best  of  spirits,  close 
by  the  river  where  the  lush  grass  grows  most  to  a  pony's 
taste.  It  did  not  escape  experienced  eyes  that,  when  the 
pony  was  thus  recovered,  the  bridle  reins  were  properly 
upon  its  neck  and  had  not  been  lifted  over  its  head, 
to  hang  by  the  bits  and  drag  about  its  hoofs.  Later, 
the  missing  one's  six-shooter  and  belt,  the  latter 
tooth-marked,  together  with  shreds  of  clothing,  scraps 
of  leather  leggings,  and  sundry  bones  gnawed  white, 
were  found  an  hour's  ride  out  on  the  trail.  The  pistol 
possessed   a   full   furnlshment   of   six   unexploded    car- 


102  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

triages.  Also,  the  tooth-marked  belt  and  those  frag- 
mentary reminders,  scattered  here  and  there  and  all 
about  for  the  round  area  of  a  mile,  offered  much  to  sup- 
port a  belief  that  the  late  officer,  in  liis  final  expression, 
had  become  of  gustatory  moment  to  coyotes,  which  grey 
beggarmen  of  the  plains  were  many  and  hungry  in  those 
parts. 

When  the  evidence  recounted  was  all  in,  the  wisdom  of 
Dodge  made  divers  deductions.  These  found  setting 
forth  in  the  remarks  of  Mr.  Wright,  the  same  being  de- 
livered to  Mr.  Short  and  others  in  the  Long  Branch 
saloon. 

"Those  bridle  reins  on  the  pony's  neck,"  observed  Mr. 
Wright,  inspired  to  the  explanation  by  Old  Jordan  and  a 
local  curiosity  which  appealed  to  him  as  among  the  best 
intelligences  in  camp,  "those  bridle  reins  on  the  pony's 
neck  shows  that  Dave  went  out  o'  the  saddle  a  heap 
sudden.  If  Dave  had  swung  to  the  grass  of  his  own  will 
he'd  have  lifted  the  reins  over  the  pony's  head,  so's  to 
keep  that  equine  standin'  patient  to  his  call." 

"Don't  you  reckon.  Bob,"  broke  in  I\Ir.  Short,  "your 
Sand  Creek  banki-upt  bushwhacks  Dave?" 

"No;  Dave  wasn't  shot  out  o'  the  saddle,  the  six  loads 
in  his  gun  bein'  plenty  on  that  point.  It's  preposterous 
that  an  old  hand  like  Dave,  in  an  open  country,  too,  could 
have  been  rubbed  out,  an'  never  get  a  shot.    Dave  wasn't 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  MR.  MASTERSON    103 

that  easy.  Besides,  if  the  Sand  Creek  hold-up  had 
bumped  Dave  off,  he'd  have  cinched  the  pony.  Gents, 
the  idea  I  entertain  is  that  Dave,  in  a  fit  of  abstraction, 
permits  liimself  to  be  bucked  off.  Landin'  on  his  head 
that  a-way,  his  neck  naturally  gets  broke." 

The  Wright  theory  having  been  adopted,  Dodge, 
in  addition  to  the  serious  business  look,  took  on  an 
atmosphere  of  disappointment  which  trenched  upon 
the  mournful.  Not  that  the  late  sheriff's  death 
preyed  upon  Dodge.  Dodge  was  aware  of  sheriffs  in 
their  evanescence.  They  were  as  grass;  they  came  up 
like  the  flowers  to  be  cut  down.  What  discouraged 
Dodge  was  the  commonplace  character  of  that  officer's 
exit,  as  so  convincingly  explained  by  Mr.  Wright.  Noth- 
ing had  been  left  wherewith  to  gild  a  story  and  tantalize 
the  envious  ears  of  rivalry.  To  be  chucked  from  a  care- 
less saddle  to  the  dislocation  of  an  equally  careless  neck 
was  not  a  proud  demise. 

By  Western  tenets  the  only  honourable  departure 
would  have  been  the  one  usual  and  official.  The  sheriff 
who  would  quit  his  constituents  under  noblest  conditions 
must  perish  in  the  smoke  of  conflict,  defending  com- 
munal order  and  the  threatened  peace  of  men.  Obvi- 
ously he  must  not  be  pitched  from  liis  own  pony  to 
fatten  coyotes. 

"For,"  as  Cimarron  Bill  was  moved  to  observe,  "to 


104  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

be  bucked  into  a  better  life,  inadvertent,  is  as  onromatic 
as  bcin'  kicked  to  glory  by  an  ambulance  mule." 

Had  the  late  sheriff  gone  down  before  the  lawless 
muzzle  of  some  desperate  personage,  bent,  as  runs  the 
phrase,  on  "standing  Dodge  on  its  head,"  what  exhilarat- 
ing ceremonies  would  have  been  the  fruit !  The  desperate 
personage,  on  the  hocks  of  that  snuffing  out,  would  have 
been  earnestly  lynched.  The  slain  sheriff,  his  head  pil- 
lowed in  his  saddle,  his  guns  by  his  side,  would  have  lain 
in  state.  Dodge,  crape  on  its  sombrero  and  with  bowed 
head,  would  have  followed  the  catafalque,  wliile  a  brass 
band  boomed  the  dead  march ;  the  rites,  conducted  in  a 
mood  of  gloomy  elevation,  would  have  aroused  the  ad- 
miration of  an  entire  border.  All  these  good  advan- 
tages were  denied  Dodge,  and  it  was  that  funeral  loss 
which  clouded  the  public  brow.  The  possibilities  would 
now  be  exhausted  when  the  fate  of  the  once  sheriff  was 
officially  noticed,  and  the  vacancy  thus  arranged  had 
been  filled. 

And  now  a  new  sheriff  must  be  chosen.  DoJge,  polit- 
ically speaking,  was  all  there  was  of  Ford  County. 
Politics,  in  the  sinister  sense  of  party,  had  never  reared 
its  viper  head  in  Dodge ;  there  existed  no  such  commodity 
of  misrule.  Also,  the  station  of  sheriff  was  of  responsible 
gra^dty.  Thus,  indeed,  thought  Dodge;  and  went  upon 
that  sheriff-mongering  with  care. 


THE  STRA TEGY  OF  MR.  MASTERSON    105 

"My  Idea  of  a  sheriff,"  vouchsafed  Mr.  Short,  "is  one 
who,  wliile  he  does  not  wear  his  six-shooters  for  orna- 
ment, can  be  rehed  on  not  to  go  shootin'  too  promis- 
cuous. The  prosperity  of  Dodge  swings  and  rattles  on 
the  boys  who  drive  the  herds.  It  isn't  commercial!}^  ex- 
pedient to  put  a  crimp  in  one  of  'em  for  trivial  cause. 
Of  course,  should  the  most  free-handed  consumer  that 
ever  tossed  his  dinero  across  a  counter  pull  his  hard- 
ware for  blood,  it  is  obvious  that  he  must  be  downed. 
The  demand  of  the  hour  is  for  a  sheriff  who  can  dis- 
criminate on  the  lines  I've  laid  down." 

This  and  more  was  said.  When  discussion  had  been 
exhausted  Mr.  Trask,  with  a  view  of  focussing  sugges- 
tion, advanced  the  name  of  Mr.  Masterson.  Mr.  Wright, 
as  well  as  Mr.  Short,  was  prompt  with  his  support. 

"For,"  said  Mr.  Wright,  "where  can  you  find  a  cooler 
head  or  a  quicker  gun  than  Bat's.'"' 

"But  Bat  ain't  here  none,"  explained  Cimarron  Bill. 
*'He's  down  on  the  Medicine  Lodge,  killin'  buffalo ;  his 
camp's  in  Walker's  Timber." 

It  was  apparent  that  the  better  element,  that  is  to  say, 
the  better  shots,  favoured  Mr.  jNIasterson.  An  informal 
count  displaj^ed  among  his  supporters  such  popular 
towers  as  jNIr.  Wright,  Mr.  Trask,  Mr.  Short,  and  Mr. 
Kelly.    Mr.  Short  was  emphatic  in  his  partisanship. 

"Not  only,"  explained  Mr.   Short,  "is  Bat  cool  an* 


106  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

steady,  but,  bar  Mike  Sutton,  he's  the  best  educated 
sharp  in  Dodge." 

Cimarron  Bill,  who  seemed  born  to  ride  bad  ponies, 
saddled  a  bronco  whose  studied  villainy  of  disposition 
was  half  atoned  for  by  an  ability  to  put  one  hundred 
miles  between  himself  and  his  last  feed.  Cimarron  Bill 
had  been  directed  to  bring  in  Mr.  l\Iastcrson. 

"An'  don't  tell  him  what's  in  the  wind,"  warned  >\Ir. 
Wright.  "Bat's  modest,  an'  if  you  spring  this  on  him 
plumb  abrupt  it  might  shock  him  so  he  wouldn't  come." 

"What'll  I  tell  him,  then.?"  demanded  Cimarron  Bill. 
"I  shore  can't  rope  up  Bat  without  a  word  an'  drag 
him  yere  with  my  pony." 

"Here's  what  you  do,"  said  Mr.  Short.  "Tell  him 
I'm  goin'  to  run,  with  UpdegrafFe  up  for  the  opp'si- 
tion.  Tell  him  that  Walker  of  the  Cross  K,  an'  B'ar 
Creek  Johnson  are  ag'in  me.  That  would  fetch  Bat 
from  the  Rio  Grande." 


On  the  south  bank  of  the  Medicine  Lodge  was  a  horse- 
shoe bend,  and  the  enclosed  forty  acres,  thick-sown  of 
trees,  were  known  as  Walker's  Timber.  Here  was 
pitched  the  buffalo  camp  of  Mr.  Masterson,  and  there- 
from, aided  and  abetted  by  his  brother  Ed  and  Mr. 
Tighlman,  he  issued  forth  against  the  buffaloes,  slaying 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  MR.  MASTERSON    107 

them  serenely,  to  his  profit  and  the  fullfed  joy  of  sundry 
coyotes  and  ravens  that  attended  faithfully  liis  hunt- 
ing. 

It  was  in  the  earlier  darkness  of  the  evening,  and  Mr. 
Masterson  was  sitting  by  his  campfire,  peering  into  a 
little  memorandum  book  by  the  dancing  light  of  the 
flames.  In  this  book,  with  a  stubby  pencil,  he  soberly 
jotted  down  a  record  of  the  day's  kill. 

"We've  made  eight  hundred  and  thirty-three  robes, 
Billy,"  observed  Mr.  Masterson  to  Mr.  Tighlman,  who 
was  busy  over  a  bake-kettle  containing  all  that  was 
mortal  of  two  hen  turkeys — wild  and  young  and  lively 
the  night  before.  "And."  concluded  Mr.  IMasterson, 
with  just  a  shade  of  pride  in  liis  tones,  "I  fetched  them 
with  precisely  eight  hundred  and  thirty-three  cartridges, 
the  nearest  bull  four  hundred  yards  away." 

IMr.  Tighlman  grunted  applause  of  the  rifle  accuracy 
of  Mr.  Masterson.  Mr.  Tighlman  was  the  camp's  cook, 
Ii.iving  a  mysterious  genius  for  biscuits,  and  knowing 
to  a  pinch  what  baking-powder  was  required  for  a  best 
biscuit  result. 

Mr.  Tighlman  presently  announced  supper  by  beating 
the  side  of  the  bake-kettle  with  the  back  of  a  butcher- 
knife.  The  challenge  brought  Ed  Masterson  from  the 
drying-grounds,  where  he  had  been  staking  out  and 
scraping,  with  ap   Instrument  that  resembled  a   short- 


108  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

handled  adz,  the  fresh  liides  of  that  day's  hunt.  I\Ir. 
Masterson  put  away  his  roster  of  buffalo  dead  and  made 
ready  to  compliment  Mr.  Tighlman  in  the  way  in  which 
cooks  like  best  to  be  praised. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  sound  as  of  some  one  crossing 
the  little  river.  Each  of  the  three  seized  his  rifle  and 
rolled  outside  the  circle  of  firelight.  It  was  as  one  hun- 
dred to  one  there  abode  no  danger;  the  Cheyennes  had 
not  yet  recovered  from  the  calmative  influences  of  the 
Black  Kettle  war.  Still,  it  was  the  careful  practice  of 
the  plains  to  distrust  all  tilings  after  dark. 

"Go  back  to  your  fire,"  shouted  a  voice  from  out  the 
shadows.  "Do  you-all  prairie  dogs  reckon  that,  if  I 
was  goin'  to  jump  your  camp,  I'd  come  walloppin'  across 
in  this  egregious  style?" 

"It's  Cimarron  Bill,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Masterson,  dis- 
carding liis  rifle  in  favour  of  renewed  turkey. 

Cimarron  Bill  tore  the  saddle  off  the  malevolent  bronco 
and  hobbled  him. 

"Whoopee !"  he  shouted  softly,  as  he  pushed  in  by  the 
fire  and  pulled  the  bake-kettle  towards  him ;  "I'm  hungry 
enough  to  eat  a  saddle  cover." 

Cimarron  Bill,  being  exhaustively  fed,  laid  forth  his 
mission  mendaciously.  He  related  the  vacancy  in  the 
office  of  sheriff,  and  said  that  it  was  proposed  to  fill  the 
same  with  Mr.  Short.     Cimarron  Bill,  seeing  a  chance 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  MR.  MASTERSON    109 

to  tell  a  little  truth,  explained  that  the  opposition  would 
put  up  Mr.  UpdegrafFe. 

"Who's  behind  Updegraffe?"  asked  Mr.  Masterson. 

The  veracious  Cimarron  Bill  enumerated  Mr.  Webster 
of  the  Alamo,  Mr.  Peacock  of  the  Dance  Hall,  Mr. 
Walker  of  the  Cross-K,  and  Bear  Creek  Johnson. 

This  set  Mr.  Masterson  on  edge. 

"We'll  start  by  sun-up,"  quoth  Mr.  Masterson.  "Ed 
and  Billy  can  pick  up  the  camp." 


When  Mr.  Masterson  discovered  how  he  had  been  de- 
frauded into  Dodge,  and  learned  of  those  honours  de- 
signed for  liim,  his  modesty  took  alarm. 

"I  didn't  think,  Cimarron,"  said  Mr.  Masterson,  in 
tones  of  reproach,  "that  you'd  cap  me  up  against  a  game 
like  tliis !"  Then  he  refused  squarely  to  consider  himself 
a  candidate. 

"But  It's  too  late.  Bat,"  explained  Mr.  Short.  "You've 
already  been  In  the  field  two  days,  with  UpdegrafFe  in  op- 
position. If  you  refuse  to  run  they'll  say  you  craw- 
fished." 

Mr.  Short  spoke  with  sly  triumph,  for  It  was  his 
chicane  which  had  announced  IMr.  Masterson  as  a  candi- 
date.   He  had  foreseen  its  value  as  an  arfrument. 

The  sagacity  of  Mr.  Short  was  justified;  Mr.  Master- 


110  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

son  was  plainly  staggered.  His  name  had  been  used ; 
his  opponent  was  in  the  field;  ]\Ir.  IVIasterson  could  find 
no  avenue  of  retreat.  It  was  settled;  Mr.  Masterson 
must  be  a  candidate  for  sheriff  of  Ford. 

The  great  contest  of  INIasterscn  against  Upde- 
graffe  had  occupied  the  public  four  days  when  ]\Ir. 
Peacock,  jMr.  Webster  and  i\Ir.  Walker,  acting  for  Mr. 
Updegraffe,  waited  upon  Mr.  Wright,  Mr.  Kelly  and 
Mr.  Short,  who  received  them  on  behalf  of  Mr.  Master- 
son.  Mr.  Peacock,  for  the  Updegraffe  three,  made  pri- 
mary explanation.  He  and  his  fellow  commissioners 
had  observed  a  falling  off  in  trade.  The  Alamo  was  not 
taking  in  one-half  its  normal  profits ;  the  same  was  true 
of  the  Dance  Hall.  The  Updegraffe  committee  asked 
Mr,  Short  if  an  abatement  of  prosperity  had  not  oc- 
curred at  the  Long  Branch,  and  put  the  same  question 
concerning  the  Alhambra  to  i\Ir.  Kelly.  IMr.  Kelly  and 
Mr.  Short,  being  appealed  to,  confessed  a  business  slack- 
ness. 

"But  you  know,"  observed  ]\Ir.  Kelly,  philosophically, 
*'how  it  is  in  business ;  it's  a  case  of  come-an'-go,  like  the 
old  woman's  soap." 

Mr.  Webster  believed  the  falling  off  due  to  an  election 
interest  which  engulfed  the  souls  of  folk. 

"It  takes  their  minds  off  such  amusements  as  roulette 
an'  farobank  an'  rum,"  explained  Mr.  Webster,     "Be- 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  MR.  MASTERSON    111 

sides,  the  people  of  Dodge  are  a  mighty  cautious  outfit. 
Dodge  won't  take  chances ;  an'  at  a  tickhsh  time  like  this 
Dodge  sobers  up." 

''There  may  be  something  in  that,"  mused  Mr.  Short. 
"But,  coming  down  to  the  turn,  what  was  It  you  jack- 
rabbits  wanted  to  say  ?" 

"This  is  the  proposition,"  said  Mr.  Webster,  "an'  we 
make  it  for  the  purpose  of  gettin'  the  racket  over  with- 
out delay.  Our  idea  is  to  set  the  time  for  a  week  from 
now,  round  up  the  votin'  population  in  the  Plaza,  say 
at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evenin',  an'  count  noses.  Master- 
son  ag'in  UpdegrafFe,  high  man  win.  That's  the  offer 
we  make.  You  gents  will  need  an  hour  to  look  it  over, 
an'  we'll  return  at  the  end  of  that  time  an'  get  your 
answer.'* 

"How  do  you  figure  this.^"  asked  Mr.  Wright  of  his 
fellow  committeemen  when  the  UpdegrafFe  delegation 
had  departed.     "Is  it  a  deadfall  .'*" 

"Strange  as  it  may  sound,"  responded  Mr.  Short, 
*'considerin'  what  liars  that  outfit  is,  I'm  obliged  to  ad- 
mit that  for  once  they're  on  the  squar'." 
,  Mr.  Kelly  coincided  with  Mr.  Short,  and  it  was  finally 
agreed  that  the  proffer  of  the  Updegraffe  contingent 
should  be  accepted. 

"We're  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Short  when  Mr.  Webster 
and  the  others  returned,  "but  not  on  selfish  grounds. 


112  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

We  base  our  action  on  tlie  bluff  that  the  peace  of  Dodge 
requires  protection,  an'  that  the  office  of  sheriff,  now 
vacant,  should  be  promptly  filled." 

"Then  the  election  is  settled,"  said  Mr.  Webster,  who 
was  a  practical  man,  "for  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evenin',  one  week  from  to-day,  to  be  pulled  off  in  the 
Plaza?" 

"That's  the  caper,"  retorted  Mr.  Short,  and  the  com- 
missions adjourned. 

The  canvass  went  forward  in  lively  vein,  albeit,  as 
Mr.  Webster  had  complained,  there  was  a  notable  falling 
away  in  the  local  appetite  for  rum.  Plainly,  Dodge  had 
turned  wary  in  a  day  that  wore  a  six-shooter,  and  under 
circumstances  wliich  tested  the  tempers  of  men.  Evi- 
dently, it  had  determined  that  wliile  this  election  crisis 
lasted,  its  hand  should  remain  steady  and  its  head  cool. 

It  was  five  days  before  the  one  appointed  for,  as  Mr. 
Webster  called  it,  "a  count  of  noses"  in  the  Plaza.  The 
friends  of  Mr.  Masterson  developed  an  irritating  fact. 
There  were,  man  added  to  man,  four  hundred  and  twelve 
votes  in  Dodge ;  of  these  a  careful  canvass  betrayed  two 
hundred  and  twelve  as  being  for  Mr.  Updegraffe — a 
round  majority  of  twelve. 

This  disquieting  popular  condition  was  chiefly  the 
work  of  Bear  Creek  Johnson.  The  malign  influence  of 
that   disreputable   person    controlled    full   forty   votes. 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  MR.  MASTERSON    113 

being  the  baser  spirits ;  and  these  now  threatened  the  de- 
feat of  Mr.  Masterson. 

Cimarron  Bill,  when  he  grasped  the  truth,  was  for 
cleansing  Dodge  of  Bear  Creek  with  a  Colt's-45.  These 
sanitary  steps,  however,  were  forbidden  by  IVIr.  Master- 
son  ;  at  that  the  worthy  Cimarron  tendered  a  comprc 
mise.  He  would  agree  to  do  no  more  than  mildly  wing 
the  offensive  Bear  Creek. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Masterson,  "don't  lay  hand  to  gun, 
I'm  not  going  to  have  Abelene  and  Hays  pointing  fingera 
of  scorn  at  Dodge  as  being  unable  to  elect  a  peace  officer 
of  the  county  without  somebody  getting  shot.  Besides, 
it  isn't  necessary ;  I'll  beat  'em  by  strategy." 

Cimarron  Bill,  withheld  from  that  direct  aid  to  Mr. 
Masterson  which  his  simple  nature  suggested,  groaned 
in  his  soul.  Observing  liis  grief,  Mr.  Masterson  detailed 
]Mr.  TIghlman  to  be  ever  at  Cimarron  Bill's  elbow,  ready 
to  repress  that  volatile  recruit  in  case  his  feelings  got 
beyond  control  and  sought  relief  in  some  sudden  bom- 
bardment of  the  felon  Bear  Creek. 

That  profligate,  thus  protected,  pursued  his  election 
efforts  In  behalf  of  ]\Ir.  Updegraffe  cunningly,  being 
all  unchecked.  His  methods  were  not  unmarked  of 
talent ;  this  should  be  a  specimen : 

"What  party  be  you  for.?"  Bear  Creek  demanded  of 
an  Ishmael  who  lived  precariously  by  chuck-a-luck.    The 


114  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

one  addressed  was  of  so  low  a  caste  that  he  would  accept  a 
wager  of  ten  cents.  This  put  him  beneath  the  notice 
of  such  as  Mr.  Short,  whose  limit  was  one  hundred  and 
two  hundred,  and  in  whose  temple  of  fortune,  the  Long 
Branch,  white  chips  were  rated  at  fifty  dollars  a  stack. 
*' Which  is  it?  Masterson  or  UpdegrafTe?" 

"Well,"  returned  the  Ishmael  of  chuck-a-luck,  doubt- 
fully, "I  sort  o'  allow  that  Bat  Masterson's  the  best 
man." 

"You  do!"  retorted  the  abandoned  Bear  Creek,  dis- 
gustedly. "Now  listen  to  me.  What  does  a  ten-cent 
hold-up  like  you  want  of  the  best  man.''  You  want  the 
worst  man,  an'  so  I  tell  you!  Make  it  Updegraffe," 
concluded  Bear  Creek,  convincingly,  "an'  you  stay  in 
Dodge.  Make  it  Masterson,  an'  he'll  make  you  an'  every 
other  tinhorn  hard  to  find." 

It  was  in  that  fashion  the  industrious  Bear  Creek 
piled  up  the  majority  of  twelve.  Unless  something  was 
done  Mr.  Masterson  would  sup  disaster,  and  even  the 
conservative  ^Ir.  Kelly  whispered  that  he  really  thought 
the  plan  of  Cimarron  Bill,  for  the  abatement  of  Bear 
Creek,  possessed  a  merit. 

"Let  me  think  this  over  a  bit,"  said  Mr.  Masterson  to 
Mr.  Kelly. 

That  night  Mr.  jNIasterson  met  Mr.  Kelly,  Mr. 
Wright  and  Mr.  Short  at  the  Long  Branch  and  laid  bare 


THE  STRA  TEGY  OF  MR .  MASTERSON    115 

a  plan.  Its  simplicity  impressed  Mr.  Masterson's  hear- 
ers ;  Mr.  Wright  even  waxed  enthusiastic. 

"It'll  win!"  he  cried,  smiting  the  poker  table  about 
which  the  four  were  gathered. 

"It  shore  looks  it,"  coincided  Mr.  Short.  "In  any 
event  we  lose  nothin' ;  we  can  always  fall  back  on  the 
guns." 

At  the  latter  intimation  I\Ir.  Kelly  nodded  solemnly. 
While  not  mercurial,  Mr.  Kelly  was  in  many  of  his  char- 
acteristics one  with  Cimarron  Bill.  There  were  ques- 
tions over  which  their  honest  natures  met  and  sympa- 
thised. 

Acting  on  the  plan  of  Mr.  Masterson,  Mr.  Wright 
and  Mr.  Short  and  Mr.  Kelly  craved  in  their  turn  a 
conference  with  the  Updegraffe  three. 

"It  is  this,  gents,  that  troubles  us,"  began  Mr.  Wright, 
when  the  committees  found  themselves  together  for  the 
second  time.  "There  are  hot  and  headlong  sports  on  our 
side  as  there  are  on  yours.  If  we  convene  in  the  Plaza, 
as  we've  arranged,  there'll  be  bloodshed.  I'm  afraid  we 
couldn't  restrain  some  of  the  more  violent  among  us ; 
indeed,  to  be  entirely  frank,  I'm  afraid  I  couldn't  even 
restrain  myself.  And  yet,  there's  a  way,  gents,  in  which 
danger  may  be  avoided.  Let  us  abandon  that  clause 
which  provides  for  a  count  of  noses  in  the  Plaza.  The 
end  in  view  can  be  attained  by  having  it  understood  that 


116  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

at  eight  o'clock  the  Masterson  forces  are  to  rally  in  the 
Long  Branch,  and  the  UpdegrafFe  people  in  Mr.  Pea- 
cock's Dance  Hall.  Thus  the  two  sides  may  be  counted 
separately  and  the  chance  of  deadly  collision  eliminated. 
We  will  set  our  watches  together  so  that  the  count  shall 
occur  at  eight  o'clock  sharp.  Mr.  Kelly  for  our  side 
will  be  at  the  Dance  Hall  to  act  with  Mr.  Peacock  in  a 
count  of  the  Undegraffe  votes,  while  ]\Ir.  Webster  for 
your  interests  is  welcome  to  come  to  the  Long  Branch 
to  aid  Mr.  Short  in  a  round-up  of  the  strength  of  Mr. 
Masterson.  The  two  forces  being  out  of  gunshot  of  each 
other,  the  attendance  will  be  freer  and  more  untram- 
melled. Following  the  count  Mr.  Short  and  Mr.  Kelly, 
Mr.  Webster  and  Mr.  Peacock  will  come  together  and 
declare  the  result.  There  of  course  will  be  no  appeal, 
unless  those  appealing  aim  at  civil  war.'* 

As  Mr.  Wright  talked  on,  suavely,  smoothly,  laying 
down  each  feature  of  his  design,  a  slow  look  of  relief 
stole  into  the  faces  of  Mr.  Webster  and  Mr.  Peacock. 
Even  the  more  hardy  features  of  Mr.  Walker  were  not 
untouched. 

There  had  been  doubts  tugging  at  the  Updegraffe 
three.  True,  the  majority  of  twelve  was  theirs,  but  the 
weight  of  valour  stood  overwhelmingly  with  Mr.  Master- 
son.  The  offer  of  a  safe  separation  of  forces  was  a  re- 
lief, and  I\Ir.  Peacock,  Mr.  Walker  and  Mr.  Webster 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  MR.  MASTERSON    117 

lost  no  time  in  accepting.  Notices  were  posted  proclaim- 
ing an  election  after  the  scheme  laid  down  by  !Mr. 
Wright. 

It  was  election  night ;  only  the  enterprising  and  those 
with  votes  and  guns  were  abroad  in  Dodge.  The  rival 
clans  of  Masterson  and  UpdegrafFe  began  to  gather, 
respectively,  at  the  Long  Branch  and  the  Dance  Hall. 
There  was  never  a  ripple  of  disorder;  nothing  could  be 
finer  than  that  peace  which  was.  Ten  minutes  before 
eight  o'clock,  the  hour  fixed  for  the  count,  the  strength 
of  each  had  convened. 

The  UpdegrafFe  people  were  jubilant ;  every  man  be- 
longing to  them  being  in  the  Dance  Hall,  that  majority 
of  twelve  was  sure.  The  minutes  went  ticking  them- 
selves into  eternity,  and  the  watches  of  Mr.  Kelly  and 
Mr.  Peacock  registered  one  minute  before  eight.  In 
sixty  seconds  the  count  in  the  Dance  Hall  would  take 
place. 

At  the  Long  Branch,  where  the  followers  of  jMr.  Mas- 
terson filled  the  rooms,  conditions  were  much  the  same. 
There  Mr.  Webster  and  Mr.  Short  would  make  the 
tally.  Watch  in  hand  they  stood  waiting  for  the  mo- 
ment. 

It  was  at  this  crisis  that  Mr.  Tighlman  pulled  his 
pistol  and  fired  through  the  Long  Branch  floor.  The 
report  was  as  a  joyful  signal.     Instantly  one  hundred 


118  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

shots  rang  out.  Indeed,  it  was  a  noble  din !  The  room 
filled  with  smoke;  excitement  mounted!  Cimarron  Bill, 
a  six-shooter  in  each  faithful  hand,  was  in  the  midst  of 
the  hubbub,  blazing  like  a  piece  of  fireworks,  whooping 
like  a  Comanche. 

The  night  breeze  carried  the  stirring  story  of  riot  and 
uproar  to  the  waiting  multitude  in  the  Dance  Hall. 
Those  waiting  ones  looked  first  their  amazement,  then 
their  delight.  As  by  one  impulse  they  tore  through  the 
door  and  made,  hotfoot,  for  the  Long  Branch.  By 
conservative  estimates,  founded  upon  the  whole  number 
of  shots,  there  should  be  at  least  five  dead  and  fifteen 
wounded. 

As  the  advance  guard  arrived  at  the  Long  Branch 
they  found  Mr.  Short  outside. 

"Bat's  downed  Bob  Wright,"  remarked  Mr.  Short; 
"plugged  him  plumb  centre." 

Inside  went  the  hilarious  Dance  Hallers.  The  astute 
Mr.  Short  followed,  closed  the  door  and  set  his  back 
against  it. 

"It's  eight  o'clock,  Mr.  Webster,"  remarked  Mr. 
Short.  "We  must  begin  to  count."  It  was  observable 
that  in  the  hand  that  did  not  hold  the  watch  Mr.  Short 
held  a  six-shooter. 

Mr.  Webster  was  in  a  flutter  of  nerves ;  he  had  been 
the  only  one  In  the  Long  Branch  who  did  not  understand 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  MR.  MASTERSON    119 

and  had  not  anticipated  those  frantic  excesses  of  Mr. 
Tighlman,  Cimarron  Bill  and  others  of  that  heroic  firing 
party.  Mr.  Webster  was  in  no  wise  clear  as  to  what  had 
happened.  Borne  upon  by  a  feeling  of  something  wrong 
he  made  a  protest. 

"Stop !"  he  cried,  "there's  a  lot  of  Updegraffe  men  in 
here." 

"No,  sir,"  responded  Mr.  Short,  coldly,  while  a  gray 
glimmer,  a  kind  of  danger  signal  it  was,  began  to  show 
in  his  eye.  "Every  gent  inside  the  Long  Branch  is  for 
Bat  Masterson  or  he  wouldn't  be  here.  Also,  to  suggest 
fraud,"  concluded  Mr.  Short,  as  Mr.  Webster  seemed 
about  to  speak,  "would  be  an  attack  upon  my  honour,  me 
ownin'  the  joint." 

Now  the  honour  of  Mr.  Short,  next  to  Mr.  Short's 
six-shooter,  was  the  most  feverish  thing  in  Dodge.  The 
mere  mention  of  it  sent  a  shiver  through  Mr.  Webster. 
Without  parley  he  surrendered  tamely,  and  the  count 
at  the  Long  Branch  began.  The  total  proved  satis- 
factory; the  returns  gave  Mr.  Masterson  two  hundred 
and  sixty  votes. 

"Let  us  go  over  to  the  Dance  Hall,"  said  Mr.  Wright, 
"and  see  what  Kell  and  Peacock  have  to  report." 

They  were  saved  the  journey ;  Mr.  Kelly  and  Mr.  Pea- 
cock, the  latter  bewildered  and  fear-ridden  in  the  face  of 
the  unknown,  just  then  came  into  the  Long  Branch. 


120  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

*'Only  thirtj-thrce  for  UpdegrafFe,"  said  Mr.  Kelly. 
"That's  correct,  ain't  it,  Peacock?" 

Mr.  Peacock  gasped,  but  seemed  to  nod  assent. 
*'i\Ir.  Masterson,  it  would  appear,  is  elected,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Wright,  benignantlj,  "by  a  majority  of  two 
hundred  and  twenty-seven.  It  is  a  tribute  to  his  popu- 
larity. The  whole  vote,  however,  is  much  smaller  than  I 
looked  for,"  and  Mr,  Wright  beamed. 

"I  think,"  said  Mr.  Kelly,  judgmatically,  "that  thar's 
a  passel  of  Updegraffe  people  stampedin'  about  the 
streets.  But,  of  course,  since  they  weren't  in  the  Dance 
Hall,  me  an'  Peacock  had  no  authority  to  incloode  'em ; 
did  we,  Peacock?" 

Mr.  Peacock  mopped  his  moonlike  countenance  and 
shook  his  head  in  forlornest  fashion.  He  was  too  mucli 
cast  down  to  oppose  the  word  of  jNIr.  Kelly. 

Bear  Creek  Johnson,  e3^e  aflame,  a-bristle  for  trouble, 
pushed  through.  Cimarron  Bill,  who  was  the  soul  of 
business  at  a  time  like  this,  met  the  outraged  Bear  Creek 
in  the  door. 

"Whatever   do  you    reckon    you're   after?"    queried 

Cimarron  Bill,  maintaining  the  while  a  dangerous  eye. 

Bear  Creek  Johnson  surveyed  Cimarron  Bill,  running 

him  up  and  down  with  an  uneasy,  prudent  glance.     He 

smelled  disaster  off  him  as  folk  smell  fire  in  a  house. 

"Me?"  he  returned,  mildly.     "Which  I  simply  comes 


THE  STRATEGY  OF  MR.  MASTERSON    121 

pirootin'  over  to  move  we  make  the  'lection  of  Bat  Mas- 
terson  yoonanimous." 

Thus  did  the  i^se  de  guerre  of  Mr.  Masterson  result 
in  victory ;  thus  was  he  made  sheriff  of  Ford. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  FATAL  GRATITUDE  OF  MR.  KELLY. 

IT  was  at  the  election  following  the  one  which  made 
Mr.  Masterson  sheriff  of  Ford  County  that  Mr. 
Kelly,  proprietor  of  the  Alhambra,  became  mayor 
of  Dodge.  Mr.  Masterson,  aside  from  being  a  natural 
captain  of  men,  had  had  his  genius  for  strategy  ripened 
as  a  scout-pupil  of  the  great  Ben  Clark  during  the 
Cheyenne  wars,  and  on  tliis  ballot  occasion  contributed 
deeply  to  the  victory  of  Mr.  Kelly.  Mr.  Masterson 
came  forward  and  withstood  certain  Mexicans,  who 
othei'wise  would  have  exercised  the  ballot  to  Mr.  Kelly's 
disadvantage.  The  INIexicans  belonged  with  the  Cross-K 
brand,  which  had  its  range  across  the  river;  and  since 
Mr.  Walker,  proprietor  of  tlie  Cross-K,  was  an  enemy 
of  INIr.  Kelly,  they  were  rightfully  regarded  by  Mr. 
Masterson  as  tools  of  the  opposition. 

Mr.  Masterson  urged,  and  with  justice,  that  an  ex- 
tension of  the  franchise  to  Mexicans  would  be  subversive 

122 


THE  FATAL  GRATITUDE  OF  MR.  KELLY  123 

of  good  morals,  and  offensive  to  the  purer  sentiment  of 
Dodge. 

"This  is,  or  should  be,"  said  Mr.  Masterson,  "a  white 
man's  government,  and  how  long,  I  ask,  will  it  survive  if 
Mexicans  be  permitted  a  voice  in  its  affairs?  If  we  are 
going  to  take  the  limit  off  in  this  ridiculous  fashion  we 
might  as  well  send  for  Bear  Shield's  band  of  Cheyennes 
and  tell  them  to  get  into  the  game.  To  grant  Mexicans 
the  right  to  vote  is  to  make  preposterous  that  freedom 
for  which  our  fathers  fought  and  bled  and  died,  and 
should  republican  institutions  be  thus  trailed  in  the  dust, 
I  see  nothing  for  it  but  an  appeal  to  arms." 

This  long  speech  was  made  to  the  judges  of  election, 
who  were  fair  men  and  friends  of  Mr.  Kelly.  There  were 
ten  of  the  Mexicans  and  the  contest  was  close ;  the  judges 
remembered  these  things,  and  the  position  taken  by  Mr. 
Masterson,  in  defence  of  an  unsullied  suffrage,  was  sus- 
tained. 

"It  wasn't  worth  a  battle,"  explained  Mr.  Walker  in 
later  comment  on  Mr.  INIasterson's  oration,  "or  I  might 
have  called  that  bluff  of  Bat's  about  an  appeal  to  arms." 

When  Mr.  Kelly  was  inaugurated  in  the  discharge  of 
his  high  trust,  his  earliest  feeling  was  one  of  favour  to 
Mr.  Masterson;  for  his  majority  had  been  but  five,  and 
Mr.  Kelly  was  a  grateful  man.  The  situation  at  a  first 
blink  baffled  the  friendship  of  Mr.  Kelly.     What  could 


124  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

he  do  for  Mr.  Masterson?  The  latter,  as  sheriff  of  Ford, 
already  held  an  office  superior  even  to  that  of  Mr. 
Kelly's.     Clearly,  Mr.  Masterson  was  beyond  and  above 

\  the  touch  of  his  gratitude,  and  though  it  stood  on  tiptoe ; 
he  must  sit  down  and  suffer  a  sense  of  obligation  wliich 
he  could  not  discharge.  These  truths  came  home  to  him 
after  hours  of  profound  thought,  and  he  sighed  as  he 
reflected  on  his  helplessness. 

But  Mr.  Kelly  was  enterprising,  and  gratitude  is  as 
apt  as  necessity  Itself  to  sharpen  the  edge  of  invention. 
That  debt  he  owed  Mr.  Masterson  had  not  borne  upon 
him  two  days  before  he  began  to  see  a  way  In  which  he 
might  return  the  other's  friendly  deeds  upon  his  head. 
As  mayor  Mr.  Kelly,  under  the  State  law  just  passed, 
could  construct  the  post  of  marshal.  The  town  had 
never  had  such  an  officer.  Thus  far  it  had  needed  none ; 
Mr.  Masterson,  in  his  good-natured  way,  had  stepped 
outside  the  strict  duties  of  his  place  as  sheriff  and,  with- 
out money  and  without  price,  acted  the  part  of  marshal. 

,  In  the  latter  role,  as  honourable  as  it  was  perilous,  Mr. 
Masterson's  six-shooters  were  already  looked  upon  by 
Dodge  as  the  local  paladium. 

Mr.  Kelly,  mayor,  decided  that  he  would  create  the 
post  of  marshal  at  a  round  stipend  to  him  who  should 
hold  it.  Also,  he  would  name  as  such  functionary  Mr. 
Masterson's  brother  Ed.    When  Mr.  Kelly  had  completed 


THE  FATAL  GRATITUDE  OF  MR.  KELLY   125 

tliis  plan  he  rewarded  himself  with  four  fingers  of  Old 
Jordan ;  a  glow  overspread  his  countenance  as  he  con- 
sidered that  he  might  thus  requite  the  generous  inter- 
ference of  Mr.  jMasterson  concerning  those  Cross-K 
Mexicans,  who,  if  their  pernicious  purpose  had  not  been 
frustrated,  would  have  defeated  him  of  his  mayoralty. 

]\Ir.  Masterson  was  not  in  Dodge  when  this  kindly 
resolution  was  reached  by  ]Mr.  Kelly,  being  over  on 
Crooked  Creek  in  quest  of  stolen  mules.  It  thus  befell 
that  Mr.  Kelly  could  not  consult  with  liim  touching  that 
marshalship,  and  the  exaltation  of  his  brother.  On 
second  thought  Mr.  Kelly  did  not  regret  the  absence  of 
Mr.  Masterson  ;  that  marshalship  would  be  a  pleasant  bit 
of  news  wherewith  to  greet  him  when,  weary  and  saddle- 
worn,  he  rode  in  with  those  lost  mules  and  the  scalp  of 
that  criminal  who  had  cut  their  hobbles  and  feloniously 
taken  them  to  himself. 

Still,  Mr.  Kelly  would  seek  advice;  this  was  only 
caution,  for  the  jealous  West  is  prone  to  resent  a  novelty 
in  Its  destinies  which  descends  upon  it  as  a  surprise.  The 
word,  therefore,  was  sent  throughout  Dodge  by  our  care- 
ful magistrate  that  he  meditated  a  marshal,  with  Ed 
Masterson  as  the  man. 

Mr,  Wright  approved  the  scheme;  likewise  did  Mr. 
Short  and  Mr.  Trask.  ]Mr.  Webster  and  ]Mr.  Peacock 
were  understood  to  disparage  the  design.     As  for  Mr. 


1S6  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Walker  of  the  Cross-K,  his  condemnation  became  open 
and  he  was  heard  to  loudly  proclaim  it  to  Mr.  Webster 
across  the  Alamo  bar. 

"And,"  concluded  the  bitter  Mr.  Walker,  replacing 
his  empty  glass  on  the  counter,  "if  the  Masterson  family 
is  goin'  to  be  sawed  onto  this  community  in  a  body,  I  for 
one  am  ready  to  pull  my  freight." 

"Well,"  casually  observed  Mr.  Short,  who  had  dropped 
in  from  the  Long  Branch  to  note  how  a  rival  trade  pro- 
gressed, "I've  always  held  that  pullin'  your  freight  was 
safer  than  pullin'  your  gun." 

"Perhaps  I'll  pull  both,"  retorted  Mr.  Walker. 

Mr.  Walker,  hov/ever,  did  not  press  the  conversation 
to  extremes.  Mr.  Short  was  a  warm  adherent  of  Mr. 
Masterson ;  moreover,  he  had  killed  a  gentleman  in  Tomb- 
stone for  merely  claiming  the  privilege  of  counting  the 
cards.  True,  that  person  of  inquiring  mind  had  set  forth 
his  desire  for  information  with  a  six-shooter,  and  as  Mr. 
Short  was  back  of  the  box  at  the  time,  and  the  bullets 
were  addressed  to  him  personally,  his  retort  was  upheld 
by  all  impartial  men.  None  the  less,  the  ready  com- 
pleteness of  the  reply  made  for  the  dignity  and  western 
standing  of  ^Ir.  Short,  and  Mr.  Walker,  who  knew  the 
story,  felt  no  ambition  to  go  with  him  to  the  bottom  of 
Mr.  Kelly's  new  policy  of  a  marshal. 

When  Mr.  Kelly  heard  how  Mr.  Wright  and  ]\Ir. 


THE  FATAL  GRATITUDE  OF  MR.  KELLY  127 

Short  and  Mr.  Trask  applauded,  he  said  that  the  affair 
was  settled;  those  gentlemen  were  his  friends.  Messrs. 
Walker  and  Webster  and  Peacock  were  of  the  opposi- 
tion, and  Mr.  Kelly  was  too  good  an  executive  to  listen 
to  his  enemies.  He  would  name  Ed  Masterson  marshal ; 
In  order  that  IVIr.  Masterson  might  witness  his  brother's 
elevation  he  would  defer  it  as  a  ceremony  until  Mr.  Mas- 
terson's  return. 

It  was  four  days  later  when  Mr.  Masterson  came  in 
with  those  wandering  mules  and  the  particulars  concern- 
ing the  last  moments  of  the  bandit  that  stole  them,  and 
who  had  opposed  a  Winchester  to  Mr.  Masterson  in  the 
discharge  of  liis  duty.  Following  his  return  Mr.  Mas- 
terson strode  into  the  Alhambra  with  the  purpose  of 
restoring  himself  and  conquering  a  fatigue  incident 
to  his  labours.  It  was  then  that  Mr.  Kelly  laid  open 
those  changes  contemplated  in  the  official  list  of  Dodge, 
which  were  to  work  advantage  for  liis  brother.  To  his 
amazement  Mr.  Masterson,  on  receipt  of  the  Informa- 
tion, became  the  picture  of  dismay. 

"Why,  Bat,"  exclaimed  ]Mr.  Kelly,  alarmed  by  Mr. 
Masterson's  evident  disturbance,  "ain't  the  Idee  all 
right?" 

"Worst  in  the  world,"  groaned  Mr.  Masterson.  "Has 
Ed  heard.?" 

"Shore,"  repHed  Mr.  Kelly ;  "I  nacherally  told  him  the 


128  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

first  flash  out  o'  the  box.  Bob  Wright  says  it's  a  beau- 
tiful scheme ;  so  does  Short." 

"I  know,  Kell,"  said  Mr.  Masterson,  wearily,  "and  no 
doubt  Bob  and  Luke  believe  it's  the  thing  to  do.  But 
they  don't  know  Ed ;  he's  no  more  fit  to  be  marshal  than  I 
am  to  join  the  clmrch." 

"Oh  come,  Bat,"  cried  Mr.  Kelly,  evincing  a  critical 
disbelief,  "no  gamer  hand  than  Ed  ever  buckled  on  a 
gun !" 

"That's  it,"  returned  Mr.  Masterson,  "Ed's  too  game. 
He's  so  game  it  obscures  his  judgment.  Those  outlaws 
from  below  will  study  him,  and  in  the  wind-up  they'll 
outwit  him.  If  you  make  Ed  marshal  he  won't  last  the 
year.    Some  of  those  murderers  will  get  him  sure." 

"I  can't  understand.  Bat ;  you  told  me  yourself  that 
when  you  an'  Ed  was  killin'  buffalo  down  on  the  Cana- 
dian for  Billy  Dixon,  Ed  was  the  best  shot  that  ever  went 
on  the  range ;  an'  the  quickest." 

*'Quick  and  as  dead  to  centres  with  either  a  Sharp's 
or  a  Colt's  as  you  could  put  your  finger.  There's  no 
discount  on  Ed's  gun  play,  and  so  I  tell  j^ou  now.  The 
trouble  lies  inside  Ed;  he's  too  easy,  too  ready  for  a 
talk.  And  he  can't  read  his  man.  Indians  and  Mexi- 
cans? yes;  I'd  trust  Ed  to  take  a  six-shooter  and  report 
favourably  on  twenty  of  'em  at  a  clatter.  But  a  white 
man  is  too  cunning ;  those  Texas  killers  that  come  over 


THE  FATAL  GRATITUDE  OF  MR.  KELLY  129 

the  Jones  and  Plummer  trail  will  throw  him  off  his 
guard.  There's  the  loose  screw,  he's  guileless ;  if  it's  a 
case  of  white  man,  he  doesn't  know  when  to  shoot.  As  I 
tell  you,  make  Ed  marshal,  and  he'll  never  see  another 
summer." 

"But  what  can  I  do .''    I've  already  told  him." 

"Yes,"  returned  Mr.  Masterson  with  a  sigh,  "and 
he's  as  obstinate  as  a  badger.  You've  got  the  notion 
planted  in  Ed's  head,  and  you  couldn't  shoot  it  out  with 
a  buffalo  gun !  The  way  you've  put  the  cards  in  the  box, 
Kell,  there's  nothing  to  do  but  appoint  him.  I  can  see 
the  finish,  though !" 

Within  the  fortnight  following  Mr.  Kelly's  investment 
of  Ed  Masterson  with  authority  as  Marshal  of  Dodge 
there  arose  an  incident  which  went  far  to  uphold  the 
fears  of  Mr.  Masterson.  It  was  made  plain,  even  to  the 
dullest,  that  Marshal  Ed  was  too  thoughtless  to  secure 
a  best  and,  for  himself,  a  safest  result  in  the  discharge 
of  his  official  duties. 

The  proof  came  in  the  broad  glare  of  an  afternoon, 
when  the  unblinking  sun  was  still  four  hours  high.  A 
lonesome  stranger  had  sought  the  Dance  Hall;  finding 
that  theatre  of  mirth  deserted,  the  desolation  of  the  place 
weighed  heavily  upon  him. 

Smitten  of  the  hope  of  adding  vivacity  to  the  scene 
and  rendering  it  more  cheerful,  the  lonesome  stranger 


130  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

pulled  his  pistol  and  sliot  into  the  upright  piano  which 
reposed  at  the  far  end  of  the  room.  The  lonesome 
stranger  put  three  bullets  through  and  through  the  in- 
strument ;  and,  as  each  cut  a  string,  the  deficiencies  thus 
arranged  were  found  later  to  mar  the  production  of 
those  gallops  and  quicksteps  and  mazurkas  upon  which 
Dodge  depended  in  hours  of  revelry. 

Mr.  Peacock,  who  took  to  the  sidewalk  when  the  lone- 
some stranger  produced  his  pistol,  called  aloud  upon 
Marshal  Ed  for  aid.  That  officer  responded,  and  stepped 
into  the  Dance  Hall  just  as  the  lonesome  one  fired  the 
third  shot. 

"Here,  here!"  exclaimed  Marshal  Ed,  his  thumbs 
jauntily  in  his  belt,  and  never  a  move  toward  his  weapon, 
"here,  you  horse-tliief !  what  do  you  figure  now  you're 
doing?" 

By  way  of  reply  the  lonesome  one  sent  the  fourth 
bullet  into  the  left  shoulder  of  Marshal  Ed.  The  latter, 
upon  this  hint,  got  his  own  artiUery  to  bear  and,  while 
the  shot  in  his  shoulder  knocked  him  off  his  feet,  the  lone- 
some one  also  went  to  the  floor  with  a  bullet  in  his  hip. 

Marshal  Ed  was  up  in  a  flash ;  the  lonesome  one  was 
making  an  eff'ort  to  rise.  At  this,  Marshal  Ed  fell  upon 
him  in  the  most  unofficial  spirit  and  beat  him  with  his 
pistol.  When  Mr.  Masterson  came  upon  the  field  his 
Kvely  relative,  weapon  back  in  its  scabbard,  was  sur- 


THE  FATAL  GRATITUDE  OF  MR.  KELLY  131 

veying  the  lonesome  one  where  he  lay  bleeding  on  the 
floor. 

"Two  of  you  pack  that  party  to  the  doctor,"  quoth 
Marshal  Ed,  addressing  the  concourse  of  citizens  that 
arrived  with  IVIr.  IVIasterson.  Then,  in  reply  to  the  lat- 
ter's  inquiry:  "No,  he  didn't  do  anything  in  particular; 
he  was  simply  shaking  up  the  joint,  I  reckon,  under  the 
head  of  good  of  the  order." 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  indignation  of  Mr.  Master- 
son  when,  fifteen  minutes  later,  he  learned  of  the  bullet 
ill  Marshal  Ed's  shoulder.  It  was  then  that  the  out- 
rageous scandal  of  It  began  to  break  upon  him. 

"You  find  a  bandit  shooting  up  the  Dance  Hall,"  cried 
the  discouraged  Mr.  Masterson,  "and  all  you  do  is  enter 
into  conversation  with  him!  Then,  when  he's  plugged 
you,  and  you  on  your  side  have  dropped  him  with  a 
bullet  in  his  leg,  you  beat  him  over  the  head ! — him,  with 
two  cartridges  left  in  his  gun !  What  do  you  reckon 
those  other  five  shots  were  put  In  your  own  six-shooter 
for  ?    And  you  call  yourself  Marshal  of  Dodge !" 

The  doctor,  having  repaired  the  lonesome  one,  began 
a  hunt  for  the  bullet  in  IVIarshal  Ed's  shoulder,  while  Mr. 
Masterson,  after  freeing  his  mind  as  recorded,  retired 
to  the  Long  Branch  to  hide  his  chagrin. 

"Ed's  new  to  the  game.  Bat,"  observed  Mr.  Short,  as 
he  joined  his  depressed  friend  at  the  bar.     "Give  him 


132  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

time;  he'll  make  the  round-up  all  right.  What  he  went 
ag'inst  to-day  will  be  proper  practice  for  him." 

"It  won't  do,  Luke,"  responded  Mr.  Masterson,  hope- 
lessly, "Ed  never'll  last  to  go  the  route.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  such  a  thing.''  A  party  has  plugged  him,  and  lies 
there  oi'ganised  with  two  more  loads.  Ed,  with  five  shots 
in  his  gun,  can't  think  of  anything  better  to  do  than 
beat  him  over  the  head.  If  I  wasn't  so  worried  I'd  feel 
ashamed." 

Dating  from  that  uprising  of  the  lonesome  stranger 
there  befell  a  season  of  serenity,  the  peace  whereof  was 
without  its  fellow  in  the  memory  of  Dodge.  The  giddy 
and  the  careless  paid  no  heed,  but  pessimists  and  ones 
grown  old  on  the  sunset  side  of  the  Missouri  took  on 
brows  of  trouble.  The  latter,  counting  on  that  inevitable 
equihbrium  which  nature  everywhere  and  under  all  con- 
ditions maintains,  looked  forward  to  an  era  of  extraor- 
dinary explosiveness,  when  bullets  would  fly  as  thick  as 
plover  in  the  fall.  These  folk  of  forecast  could  not  tell 
when  this  powder-burning  would  take  place,  but  they 
felt  that  it  was  on  its  smoky  way. 

True,  that  period  of  deep  quiet  was  occasionally 
rippled  by  some  tenderfoot  who,  made  fooHsh  of  whiskey 
and  the  liberal  lines  laid  down  by  Dodge  for  the  guidance 
of  visitors,  was  inclined  to  go  too  far.  Or  now  and 
again  a  Mexican  became  boisterous  beyond  what  a  judi- 


THE  FATAL  GRATITUDE  OF  MR.  KELLY  133 

cious  public  sentiment  permitted  to  his  caste,  and  offered 
a  case  where  the  dignity  of  Dodge  required  that  he  be 
moderately  "buffaloed."  These  slight  ebullitions,  how- 
ever, were  as  nothings,  and  came  under  the  caption  of 
child's  play.  It  was  not  until  the  talcing  place  of  what 
stirring  events  are  to  be  recounted  that  those  pessimists 
and  ones  of  prophecy,  being  justified  of  their  fears, 
'gathered  at  the  Long  Branch,  the  Alhambra  and  the 
Alamo,  and  over  their  liquor  reminded  one  another  how 
they  had  foretold  the  same. 

It  was  broT\Ti  October ;  the  fat  beef  herds  came  winding 
in  from  the  lowing,  horn-tossing  south,  and  Dodge  m  its 
shirtsleeves  was  busy  with  prosperity.  The  genial  boys 
of  cows,  their  herds  disposed  of,  were  eager  to  dispense 
their  impartial  riches  upon  monte,  whiskey  and  quad- 
rilles, and  it  was  the  chosen  duty  of  Dodge  to  provide 
those  relaxations. 

On  the  fateful  day  which  this  history  has  in  mind,  Mr. 
Walker  of  the  Cross-K  brought  in  a  bunch  of  nine  hun- 
dred steers.  They  came  trooping  and  bellowing  through 
the  Arkansas  with  the  first  dull  lights  of  morning,  and, 
before  Dodge  sat  down  to  its  prandial  meal — which  with 
a  simplicity  inherited  of  the  fathers  it  took  at  noon — 
had  been  turned  over  to  certain  purchasing  gentle- 
men from  the  East,  for  whom  they  had  been  gathered. 
Their  task  performed,  the  weary  riders  who  brought 


134.  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

them  up  the  trail  gave  themselves  freely  to  those  metro- 
politan delights  which  Dodge  arranged  for  them.  They 
went  about  with  liberal  hands,  and  Dodge  rejoiced  in 
profits  staggering. 

Among  those  who  rode  in  with  the  Cross-K  herd  was 
Mr.  Wagner.  In  moments  of  sobriety  no  danger  had  its 
source  in  Mr.  Wagner.  Endowed  of  strong  drink  and  a 
Colt's  pistol  in  right  proportions,  he  was  worth  the 
watching.  Indeed,  within  the  year  Mr.  Wagner,  while 
thus  equipped,  had  shot  himself  into  such  disrepute  in  the 
streets  of  jNIobeetie  that  he  defeated  a  popular  wish  to 
hang  him  only  by  the  fleetness  of  his  pony.  It  was  then 
he  came  north  and  attached  himself  to  Mr.  Walker  and 
the  Cross-K. 

Throughout  those  daylight  hours  which  fell  in  between 
that  transfer  of  the  Cross-K  herd  and  the  lighting  of 
what  kerosene  lamps  made  gay  the  barrooms  of  Dodgej 
nothing  could  have  been  more  commendable  than  the  de- 
portment of  IVIr.  Wagner.  He  imbibed  his  whiskey  at 
intervals  not  too  brief,  and  distributed  his  custom  with 
an  equal  justice  between  the  Alhambra  with  Mr.  Kelly, 
the  Alamo  with  Mr.  Webster,  and  the  Long  Branch  with 
Mr.  Short.  Also,  he  drifted  into  the  outfitting  bazaar  of 
Mr.  Wright  and  spent  fifty  dollars  upon  an  eight-inch 
Colt's  six-shooter,  calibre-45,  the  butt  of  which  was  en- 
riched and  made  graceful  with  carved  ivory.     This  fur- 


THE  FATAL  GRATITUDE  OF  MR.  KELLY  135 

niture  Mr.  Wagner  would  later  swing  to  his  hip  by 
means  of  a  belt,  the  same  corrugated  of  cartridges. 

It  was  not  observed  that  his  drinks  had  begun  to  tell 
upon  Mr.  Wagner  invidiously  until  the  hour  of  eight 
in  the  evening  when,  from  the  family  circle  of  the  Dodge  .' 
Opera  House,  he  roped  the  first  violin  of  a  dramatic  or- 
ganisation called  the  Red  Stocking  Blondes.  It  was 
during  the  overture  that  Mr.  Wagner  pitched  the  loop 
of  his  lariat  into  the  orchestra,  and  as  the  first  violin 
played  vilely  the  interruption  was  well  received  by  the 
public. 

The  management,  however,  came  before  the  curtain 
and  said  that  the  show  would  not  proceed  wliile  Mr. 
Wagner  remained.  With  that,  IMarshal  Ed  led  the  dis- 
turber forth,  took  a  drink  with  him  to  prove  that  his 
removal  was  merely  formal  and  nothing  personal  meant, 
and  bid  him  return  no  more.  Mr.  Wagner,  acting  on 
the  suggestion  of  Marshal  Ed,  at  once  surrendered  every 
scrap  of  interest  in  the  drama,  as  expounded  by  the  Red 
Stocking  Blondes.  It  should  be  remembered  that  at  this 
moment  Mr.  Wagner,  in  deference  to  the  taste  of 
Dodge,  which  frowned  upon  pistols  in  places  of  public 
entertainment  as  superfluous  and  vulgar,  was  not  wear- 
ing that  brand-new  Colt's  with  the  ivory  butt. 

It  was  roundly  the  hour  of  midnight,  and  Mr.  Pea- 
cock's Dance  Hall  shone  with  the  beauty  and  the  chivalry 


136  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

of  Dodge.  Marshal  Ed  had  come  over  to  the  Dance 
Hall  to  hold  the  chivalry  adverted  to  in  decorous  check 
and  keep  it  to  paths  of  peace. 

Mr.  Wagner  arrived  and  took  his  place  in  a  quadrille. 
It  was  observed  that  the  belt  of  IMr.  Wagner  now  upheld 
that  Colt's  pistol  of  the  ivory  butt.  Aroused  by  this 
solecism.  Marshal  Ed  descended  upon  Mr.  Wagner  and 
captured  his  unlawful  embelllslmients.  He  was  holding 
the  six-shooter  in  one  hand  and  Mr.  Wagner  In  the  other 
when  Mr.  Walker,  sober  and  suave,  drew  near. 

"If  you'll  give  him  to  me,  Ed,"  remarked  Mr.  Walker, 
"I'll  take  care  of  him." 

Since  the  proposal  provided  for  the  peace  of  Dodge, 
Marshal  Ed  accepted  it.  He  made  over  Mr.  Wagner  and 
the  weapon  of  ivory  butt  to  the  soft-speaking  Mr. 
Walker.  Thereupon  Mr.  Walker  conducted  Mr.  Wagner 
outside. 

Taking  Mr.  Wagner  to  the  rear  of  the  Dance  Hall, 
where  no  ear  might  listen  and  no  eye  look  on,  Mr. 
Walker  perfidiously  readorned  him  with  that  ivory- 
butted  treasure  of  a  Colt's-45. 

"Now,"  observed  Mr.  Walker,  as  he  buckled  the  belt 
and  its  dependent  ordnance  where  they  would  do  the  most 
harm,  "if  I  was  you  I'd  go  surgin'  back  into  the  Dance 
Hall  an'  if  any  jimcrow  marshal  tried  to  pounce  on  my 
gun  I'd  blow  his  lamp  out." 


THE  FATAL  GRATITUDE  OF  MR.  KELLY  137 

Marshal  Ed  had  emerged  from  the  Dance  Hall  into  the 
glare  of  light  wliich  issued  from  its  front  windows  when 
]Mr.  Wagner,  walking  deviously,  his  broad-rimmed  hat 
cocked  at  an  insulting  angle,  the  offensive  six-shooter 
flapping  ostentatiously  against  his  leg,  brushed  by.  Mr. 
Wagner  wore  a  challenging  glance  and  was  snorting  de- 
fiance of  the  law. 

It  was  now  that  Marshal  Ed  displayed  that  want  of 
caution  and  indifference  to  precedent  whereof  ]Mr.  Mas- 
terson  had  warned  Mr.  Kelly.  Under  the  conditions 
presented  vide  licet  the  sudden,  not  to  say  warlike,  return 
of  Mr.  Wagner,  it  was  officially  the  business  of  Marshal 
Ed  to  shove  the  muzzle  of  his  own  gun  into  the  face  of 
Mr.  Wagner  and,  to  quote  the  words  of  Dodge  as  it 
digged  the  graves  next  day,  "stand  him  up."  In  case 
Mr.  Wagner  did  not  hold  his  hands  above  his  head. 
Marshal  Ed  was  to  officially  unhook  his  gun  and  put  a 
period  to  Mr.  Wagner's  career. 

So  far  from  following  this  rule  of  conduct.  Marshal 
Ed  reached  out  with  both  hands  and  seized  Mr.  Wagner 
by  the  shoulders.  Thereupon  Mr.  Wagner  yanked  the 
Colt's  pistol  of  ivory  butt  from  its  scabbard ;  as  a  coun- 
ter-move, Marshal  Ed,  while  retaining  a  right-hand 
grip  on  Mr.  Wagner's  shoulder,  grabbed  the  pistol  with 
his  left  hand  and  held  the  muzzle  to  one  side.  There 
the   two   stood,   Mr.    Wagner   powerless   to   bring   his 


138  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

weapon  to  bear,  and  Marshal  Ed  unable  to  wrest  it  from 
his  grasp. 

At  this  juncture  Mr.  Walker,  who,  in  anticipation  of 
what  might  occur,  had  privilj  provided  himself  with  a 
pistol,  came  out  of  the  darkness  to  the  rear  of  the  Dance 
Hall  and  thinist  the  weapon  in  the  face  of  ^Marshal  Ed. 
Mr.  Walker  pulled  the  trigger,  the  hammer  descended, 
but  instead  of  the  expected  report  there  came  notliing 
more  lethal  than  a  sharp  click.  The  cartridge,  ashamed 
of  tJie  treachery  in  Avhich  it  found  itself  employed,  had 
refused  to  explode. 

Before  Mr.  Walker  could  cock  his  weapon  for  a  second 
trial  three  splitting  flashes  burned  three  holes  in  the 
night.  Bang!  bang!  bang!  The  three  reports  were 
crowded  as  close  together  as  the  striking  of  a  Yankee 
clock.  ]Mr.  Masterson,  from  sixty  feet  away,  had  put 
three  bullets  into  Mr.  Walker  before  the  latter  could  fall. 
It  was  like  puffing  out  a  candle.  i\Ir,  Walker  of  the 
Cross-K  was  dead. 

Mr.  Masterson,  from  where  he  stood,  would  not  chance 
a  shot  at  iMr.  Wagner  ;  Marshal  Ed  was  too  much  in  the 
line  of  fire.  Acting  a  next  best  part,  he  came  up  to  the 
two  on  the  inin.  But  he  came  late.  Wliile  he  was  still 
ten  feet  away  jNIr.  Wagner,  in  the  twists  and  turns  of 
conflict,  felt  the  muzzle  of  that  new  ivory-mounted  Colt's 
pistol  press   for  one  insignificant  moment  against  the 


THE  FATAL  GRATTTUDE  OF  MR.  KELLY   139 

other's  breast;  he  pulled  the  trigger  and  Marshal  Ed 
fell,  shot  through  the  lungs,  his  clothes  afire  from 
the  burning  powder.  As  Marshal  Ed  went  down,  Mr. 
Wagner  followed  him — dead — with  a  bullet  in  his  temple 
from  the  revengeful  pistol  of  Mr.  Masterson. 

Mr.  Wright  and  Mr.  Short  carried  Marshal  Ed  into 
the  Long  Branch.  Mr.  Masterson,  who  with  unfluttered 
pulse  had  looked  death  in  the  eye  a  score  of  times,  began 
to  cry  like  a  woman.  Mr.  Kelly,  mayor,  united  his  tears 
to  Mr.  Masterson's. 

"It  was  my  fault,  Bat,"  wept  Mr.  Kelly ;  "I  only  wish 
I  might  have  stopped  that  bullet  myself." 

"It  has  turned  out  like  I  told  you,  Kell,"  said  Mr. 
Masterson ;  "those  murderers  out-managed  him !" 

Mr.  Short  reappeared  and  laid  a  sympathetic  hand 
on  ]Mr.  Masterson's  shoulder. 

"Bat,"  said  Mr.  Short,  "do  you  want  to  see  Ed?  He's 
dyin' ;  he's  down  to  the  last  chip !" 

"Poor  Ed!  No;  I  don't  want  to  see  Iiim!"  said  Mr. 
Masterson,  tears  falling  like  rain. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
WHY  THE  WEEKLY  PLANET  DIED. 

THE  Weekly  Planet,  founded  and  edited  during 
its  brief  existence  by  Higginson  Peabody,  and 
issued  every  Saturday  to  the  hebdomadal  joy  of 
Dodge,  might  have  flourished  unto  this  day  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  Jack.  It  was  a  circulation  scheme  proposed  by 
Jack,  and  adopted  by  Higginson  Peabod}',  wliich  undid 
the  destinies  of  the  Weekly  Planet  to  such  a  degree  that, 
in  the  quicksands  of  a  bottomless  trouble  into  which  they 
were  thereby  betrayed,  a  trouble,  as  Higginson  Peabody 
averred,  "so  vast,  that  against  it  no  human  ingenuity 
could  prevail,"  they  bogged  down  and  disappeared. 

Not  but  what  Jack  was  wholly  true  to  the  Weekly 
Planet  and  its  fortunes.  Indeed  it  was  Jack,  in  his  in- 
tense loyalty  to  the  paper  and  those  that  gave  it  the 
aid  and  comfort  of  their  countenance,  and  despite  the 
fact  that  Mr.  Masterson's  recommendation  had  orig- 
inally paved  his  way  into  journalism,  who  misled  that 

140 


WHY  THE  WEEKLY  PLANET  DIED     141 

officer  as  to  the  flight-direction  taken  by  Rattlesnake 
Sanders  on  the  occasion  of  his  winging  Mr.  Kelly.  Per- 
haps, in  defence  of  Jack,  that  episode  should  be  briefly 
told. 

Rattlesnake  Sanders  played  a  cold  hand,  being  four 
kings  and  an  ace,  against  a  quartette  of  queens,  the  then 
armament  of  Mr.  Kelly.  Mr.  Kelly  pointed  out  the 
frigid  character  of  those  four  kings,  and  thereupon  Rat- 
tlesnake, in  a  feeling  of  chagrin  natural  to  one  who  finds 
himself  detected  in  a  wrong,  shot  Mr.  Kelly  in  the  arm. 
Following  this  ebullition  of  temper.  Rattlesnake  mounted 
his  pony  and  spurred  away  into  the  dark. 

The  office  of  the  WeeUij  Planet  was  on  the  northern 
fringe  of  Dodge.  It  was  ten  o'clock  of  the  night  when 
Rattlesnake  expressed  his  dissatisfaction  with  Mr.  Kelly 
in  manner  and  form  set  forth.  The  editorial  and  me- 
chanical forces  of  the  Weekly  Planet,  made  up  of  Hig- 
ginson  Peabody,  Jack,  and  a  trio  of  printers,  were  hard 
at  work  at  the  time  and  knew  nothing  of  Rattlesnake  and 
his  exploits.  Indeed,  the  earliest  word  which  they  re- 
ceived of  Rattlesnake  was  when  that  impulsive  cowboy 
pulled  up  at  their  door. 

The  cause  of  Rattlesnake's  pulling  up  was  simple. 
When  he  and  Mr.  Kelly  sat  down  to  that  friendly  game, 
which  in  its  finale  was  so  disappointing.  Rattlesnake,  the 
evening  being  warm,  had  cast  aside  his  coat  and  hat. 


142  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Being  more  or  less  preoccupied  when  ready  to  leave,  he 
forgot  to  reassume  those  garments.  His  halt  at  the 
Weekly  Planet  was  with  a  purpose  of  repairs. 

Bare  of  head  and  coatless,  Rattlesnake  called  from 
the  saddle  to  Higginson  Pcabody.  The  latter,  with  Jack 
at  his  elbow,  appeared  in  the  door. 

"Got  a  hat  and  coat  you  don't  want?"  asked  Rattle- 
snake. 

There  were  two  six-shooters  in  the  belt  of  Rattlesnake 
and  a  Winchester  in  its  saddle-scabbard  under  his  left 
leg,  and  it  may  have  been  this  stock  of  ironware  that 
awoke  the  generosity  of  Higginson  Pcabody.  Whatever 
it  was  to  move  his  benevolence,  the  truth  remains  that  he 
took  his  own  hat  and  coat  from  their  peg  and  conferred 
them  on  Rattlesnake. 

As  he  picked  up  the  bridle  reins  to  ride  away  Rattle- 
snake ran  liis  hand  into  his  pocket. 

*'What's  the  damage?"  he  queried, 

*'Notlung,"  returned  Higginson  Peabody ;  "they  are 
freely  yours." 

*'What's  the  subscription  to  this  rag?"  asked  Rattle- 
snake, pointing  up  at  the  sign  above  the  door.  "How 
much  does  she  cost  for  a  year?" 

*'Two  dollars,"  broke  in  Jack,  who  was  the  circulating 
agency  of  the  Weekly  Planet. 

"Thar's  a  saw-buck,"  quoth  Rattlesnake,  bringing  up 


WHY  THE  WEEKLY  PLANET  DIED     143 

a  ten-dollar  goldpiece  and  tossing  It  to  Jack.  "Put 
down  Rattlesnake  Sanders  for  five  years."  Then,  as  he 
buried  a  spur  in  his  pony's  flank  and  fled  like  an  arrow : 
"I'll  send  th'  address  as  soon  as  I  settle  down." 

When  Rattlesnake  Sanders  injured  Mr.  Kelly's  arm 
]\Ir.  Masterson  was  at  the  other  end  of  town.  It  was 
ten  minutes  before  he  heard  of  the  gay  doings  of  Rattle- 
snake. When  word  reached  him  he  threw  a  saddle  onto 
a  pony  and  started  In  pursuit.  INIr.  ^Masterson  also 
halted  at  the  open  door  of  the  Weehly  Planet,  only  he 
was  after  Information,  not  apparel. 

"Did  you  see  a  cowboy  without  coat  or  hat  go  by.'"' 
asked  j\Ir.  Masterson,  on  the  bare  chance  that  the  phe- 
nomenon had  caught  the  eye  of  HIgglnson  Peabody. 

"I  just  gave  one  my  coat  and  hat,"  replied  HIgglnson 
Peabody. 

"It  was  Rattlesnake  Sanders,"  said  Mr.  Masterson, 
settling  himself  In  his  stirrups  for  a  run.  "He's  creased 
Kelly.    Which  war  did  he  go?" 

Before  HIgglnson  Peabody  could  answer.  Jack  took 
reply  from  his  mouth. 

"I'll  a'now  you,  INIr.  Masterson,"  observed  the  eager 
Jack,  pointing  westward  towards  the  Cimarron  Crossing. 
"He  lined  out  In  that  direction.  An'  say,  he  was  simply 
hittin'  the  high  places  !" 

Now,  be  It  known  that  Rattlesnake  had  fled  away  to 


144  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

the  north  and  east,  as  though  heading  for  Hays — a 
course  the  reverse  of  that  given  by  Jack.  The  interven- 
tion, and  the  brisk  falsehoods  so  cheerfully  fulminated, 
took  away  the  breath  of  Higginson  Peabody.  Before  he 
regained  it  IMr.  Masterson  was  a  mile  on  his  way  to  the 
Cimarron  Crossing. 

"How  could  you  lie  like  that?"  demanded  Higginson 
Peabody,  regarding  Jack  with  wondering  horror ;  "how 
could  you  lie  like  that,  and  you  but  fourteen !  That 
Rattlesnake  man  went  east,  not  west ;  and  Mr.  Masterson 
is  an  officer  of  the  law !" 

"What  of  it?"  retorted  Jack,  indignantly;  "d'you 
think  I'd  throw  doT^Ti  a  subscriber?"  Then,  as  he 
reached  for  his  cap :  "I  reckon  I'd  better  go  over  to  the 
Alhambra  an'  see  how  hard  old  Kcll  got  plugged.  It 
ought  to  be  good  for  a  column.  Say !"  and  Jack  beamed 
on  Higginson  Peabody,  "if  he'd  only  beefed  old  Kell, 
wouldn't  it  have  been  hot  stuff?" 

Higginson  Peabody,  when  he  graduated  from  Har- 
vard, had  been  invited  into  the  counting-room  of  his 
father's  State  Street  bank.  But  the  old  migratory  in- 
stinct of  his  puritan  ancestry  was  rife  within  him,  and 
he  hungered  to  go  abroad  into  the  land.  The  expanding 
West  invited  liim ;  also,  he  distasted  a  bank  and  liked  the 
notion  of  a  paper. 

"Well,"  said  the  elder  Peabody,  "I  don't  blame  you. 


WHY  THE  WEEKLY  PLANET  DIED     145 

Massachusetts  and  Boston  aren't  what  they  were.  New 
England  to-day  is  out  in  Kansas  and  Nebraska." 

Higginson  Peabody  resolved  to  start  a  paper.  Dodge 
occurred  to  him;  a  friend  returning  had  told  him  that 
newsy  things  were  prone  to  happen  in  Dodge.  The  soil, 
by  the  friend's  word,  was  kindly ;  Higginson  Peabody 
thought  it  would  nourish  and  upbuild  a  paper.  Where- 
fore, one  bright  autumnal  morning,  he  dropped  off  at 
Dodge.  Going  over  to  the  hotel  he  took  a  room  by  the 
month  and  confided  to  ]\Ir.  Wright  that  he  would  found 
the  Weekly  Planet. 

Mr.  Wright  squeezed  the  hand  of  Higginson  Peabody 
until  it  hung  limp  as  a  rag. 

"It  was  an  inspiration  when  you.  decided  to  come  to 
Dodge,"  said  Mr.  Wright. 

"Do  you  think,"  asked  Higginson  Peabody,  painfully 
separating  each  finger  from  its  fellows,  "do  you  think 
your  city  ready  for  the  birth  of  a  great  paper.'"' 

"Ready.''  Dodge'll  sit  up  nights  to  rock  its  cradle 
and  warm  its  milk!"  quoth  Mr.  Wright. 

Mr.  Wright  went  down  to  the  Long  Branch  and  told 
Mr.  Short.  As  information  radiated  from  the  Long 
Branch  the  extremest  corner  of  Dodge  was  filled  with 
the  news  in  an  hour. 

When  Mr.  Wright  withdrew  to  the  Long  Branch  he 
left  Higginson  Peabody  sitting  on  the  hotel  porch.    The 


146  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

costume  of  Higginson  Peabody  culminated  in  a  silk  hat 
that  would  have  looked  well  on  Boston  Common.  The 
tall,  shiny  hat  excited  the  primitive  interest  of  Cimar- 
ron Bill,  who  lightly  shot  it  from  the  head  of  its  owner. 
Then,  with  bullet  following  bullet,  he  rolled  it  along  the 
sidewalk.  Several  gentlemen  joined  Cimarron  Bill  in  this 
sprightly  pastime  of  the  hat.  Full  twenty  took  part, 
and  Higginson  Peabody's  headgear,  to  quote  Cimarron 
Bill  as  he  reported  the  episode  later  to  Mr.  Masterson, 
was: 

"A  heap  shot  up." 

*'He's  an  editor,"  warned  Mr.  Masterson,  "and  going 
to  start  a  paper.    Mind,  you  mustn't  hurt  him !" 

"Hurt  him !"  retorted  Cimarron  Bill.  "If  I  do  I  hope 
to  go  afoot  the  balance  of  my  life — I  do,  shore !" 

Mr.  Wright  returned  from  the  Long  Branch,  bring- 
ing Mr.  Short.  Higginson  Peabody  mentioned  the  ad- 
ventures of  his  hat. 

"It's  my  fault,"  said  Mr.  Wright ;  "I'd  ought  to  have 
told  you.  That  breed  of  war-bonnet  is  ag'inst  the  rules 
of  our  set." 

"That's  right,"  coincided  Mr.  Short;  "only  sooicides 
wear  'em  in  Dodge." 

"We'll  fix  it,"  observed  ]\Ir.  Wright,  who  noticed  that 
Higginson  Peabody  looked  cast  down.  "What's  the  size 
of  your  head.'"' 


WHY  THE  WEEKLY  PLANET  DIED     14T 

*'Seven  and  an  eighth,"  returned  Higglnson  Peabody, 
doubtfully. 

"Seven  and  an  eighth!"  repeated  Mr.  Wright:  "It'll 
grow  in  Dodge.  See  if  it  ain't  two  sizes  larger  in  a 
month." 

Mr.  Wright  sent  over  to  that  mart  whereof  he  was 
proprietor,  and  presently  a  pearl-gray  sombrero  ap- 
peared. 

"There  you  are !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Wright.  *'As  good  a 
Stetson  as  ever  rode  in  a  round-up!  Price.''  Not  a 
word!    I'll  take  it  out  in  advertising." 

Mr.  Wright  became  as  an  elder  brother  to  Higginson 
Peabody.  On  the  morning  following  the  latter's  advent 
the  two  sat  convenient  to  the  hotel  bar  and  talked  of  In- 
dians. That  is,  Mr.  Wright  talked  of  Indians,  and  Hig- 
ginson Peabody  gulped  and  listened,  pale  of  cheek. 

Mr.  Wright  said  a  Cheyenne  was  as  full  of  the  un- 
expected as  a  career  in  Wall  Street.  He  hoped  the 
Cheyennes  wouldn't  kill  and  scalp  anybody  about  Dodge 
between  then  and  Christmas.  Mr.  Wright  set  his  limit 
at  Christmas  because  that  was  three  months  away,  and 
three  months  was  as  long  as  even  an  optimist  was 
licensed  to  hope  anything  of  a  Cheyenne. 

No,  j\Ir.  Wright  did  not  think  the  Cheyennes  would 
immediately  bother  Dodge.  They  were  busy  with  the 
buffaloes  at  that  season.     Moreover,  there  were  a  num- 


118  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

ber  of  buffalo  hunters  along  the  Medicine  Lodge  and  the 
Cimarron  whom  they,  the  Cheyennes,  might  capture  and 
burn  at  the  stake.  This  would,  so  Mr.  Wright  argued, 
slake  the  Cheyenne  thirst  for  immediate  amusement. 
Later,  when  they  had  burned  up  that  year's  stock  of  buf- 
falo hunters  and  were  suffering  from  ennui,  the  Chey- 
ennes would  doubtless  visit  Dodge. 

"But,"  declared  Mr.  Wright,  triumphantly,  "we  gen- 
erally beat  'em  off.  They  never  capture  or  kill  more'n 
fifty  of  us  before  we  have  'em  routed.  Sure ;  we  down 
three  times  as  many  of  them  as  they  do  of  us.  Which 
reminds  me:  come  down  to  Kelly's  Alhambra  and  let  me 
show  you  the  head-dresses  and  bead  jackets  we  shucked 
from  the  last  outfit  we  wiped  out." 

INIr.  Wright  exhibited  to  Higginson  Peabody  what 
trophies  had  been  brought  north  from  the  'Dobe  Walls 
and  were  then  adorning  the  walls  of  the  Alhambra.  Also, 
he  had  Mr.  Kelly,  who  was  their  custodian,  bring  out  the 
eighty  scalps,  and  counted  them  into  the  shrinking 
fingers  of  Higginson  Peabody,  who  handled  them  gin- 
gerly. They  were  one  and  all,  so  Mr.  Wright  averred, 
stripped  from  slaughtered  Cheyennes  in  the  streets  of 
Dodge. 

"Isn't  that  so,  KelL?"  asked  Mr.  Wright,  appealing  to 
JNIr.  Kelly. 

**Shore!"  assented  Mr.  Kelly.  Then,  by  way  of  par- 


WHY  THE  WEEKLY  PLANET  DIED     14^ 

ticular  corroboration  and  picking  out  a  brace  of  scalps 
whereof  the  braided  hair  was  unusually  long  and  glossy, 
"I  killed  an'  skelped  these  two  right  yere  in  the  s'loon.** 

Higginson  Peabody  was  impressed  and  said  he  would 
one  day  write  up  what  he  had  heard  for  the  Weekly/ 
Planet. 

Mr.  Wright  invited  Higginson  Peabody  to  explore  the 
region  lying  back  of  Dodge.  They  would  make  the  trip 
on  ponies.  Mr.  Wright  held  that  the  exploration  was 
requisite  to  the  right  editing  of  a  local  paper. 

"For  how,"  demanded  Mr.  Wright,  plausibly,  "can 
you  get  out  a  paper  and  know  nothing  of  the  country 
you're  in?  As  for  Cheyennes,  you  need  entertain  no 
fear.  You'll  have  a  pony  under  you  that  can  beat  an 
antelope." 

Higginson  Peabody,  with  Mr.  Wright  as  guide,  phi- 
losopher and  friend,  broke  into  the  gray  rolling  desert 
to  the  north  of  Dodge.  At  the  end  of  the  first  mile 
Dodge  dropped  out  of  sight  behind  a  swell  and  Higgin- 
son Peabody  found  himself  surrounded  by  naught  save 
the  shadowless  plains — as  grimly  stark  as  when  they 
slipped  from  the  palm  of  the  Infinite !  The  very  picture 
of  loneliness,  the  scene  pressed  upon  the  unsophisticated 
sensibilities  of  Higginson  Peabody  like  a  menace.  He 
wanted  to  return  to  Dodge,  but  he  didn't  like  to  say  so. 

Mr.    Wright  became   replete  of   reminiscences.     He 


150  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

showed  Higginson  Pcabody  where  a  party  of  emigrants 
liad  been  butchered  by  the  Cheyennes  only  eight  weeks 
before. 

By  the  side  of  a  water  hole  Mr.  Wright  pointed  to 
the  ashes  of  a  fire.  The  Cheyennes  had  there  grilled  a 
victim  on  the  coals. 

"You  see,"  explained  Mr.  Wright,  in  apology  for  the 
Cheyennes,  "they  didn't  have  any  stake.  The  best  they 
could  do  was  tie  him,  wrist  and  heel,  toss  him  in  the*  fire 
and  then  keep  him  there  with  their  lances." 

"Was  he«  from  Dodge?"  faltered  Higginson  Peabody. 

*'No,"  said  INIr.  Wright,  carelessly,  "if  my  memory 
serves,  he  was  a  sot  from  Abilene." 

Ten  minutes  later  they  were  winding  along  a  dry 
arroya. 

"What's  that.?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Wright,  and  he  leaped 
from  his  pony. 

Mr.  Wright  held  up  a  moccasin  which,  apparently, 
he  had  taken  from  the  ground. 

"Cheyenne,"  said  Mr.  Wright,  sinking  his  voice  to  a 
whisper.  "Warm,  too;  that  moccasin  was  on  its  owner 
not  five  minutes  ago !" 

Higginson  Peabody  took  the  buckskin  footgear  in* 
his  hands,  which  shook  a  little.  The  moccasin  was  warm. 
It  could  hardly  have  been  otherwise  since  Mr.  Wright 
had  carried  it  In  an  Inside  pocket. 


WHY  THE  WEEKLY  PLANET  DIED     151 

Mr.  Wright  glanced  furtively  about. 

"We'd  better  skin  out  for  Dodge,"  said  he. 

Higginson  Peabody  wheeled,  being  quite  in  the 
humour  for  Dodge.  He  was  on  the  threshold  of  saying 
so  v/hen  a  medley  of  yelps  and  3^ells  broke  forth.  Hig- 
ginson Peabody  cast  a  look  to  the  rear;  a  score  of  be- 
feathered  and  ochre-bedabbled  demons  were  in  open  cry 
not  a  furlong  away. 

Mr.  Wright  had  made  no  idle  brag  when  he  said  the 
pony  bestrode  by  Higginson  Peabody  could  outstrip  an 
antelope.  The  latter  gave  that  animal  its  head  and  the 
scenery  began  racing  rearward  in  a  slate-coloured  blur. 
]VIr.  Wright's  pony  was  panting  on  the  flank  of  its  flying 
mate. 

"Ride  hard !"  shouted  Mr.  Wright.  "To  be  captured 
is  death  by  torture!" 

Higginson  Peabody  did  ride  hard.  There  was  a 
rattle  of  rifles  and  six-shooters ;  the  liigh  lead  ripped  and 
whined  and  whistled — new  sounds  to  the  shrinking  ears 
of  Higginson  Peabody !  Now  and  again  a  bullet  scut- 
tered  along  the  ground  to  right  or  left  and  tlirew  up 
ominous  pinches  of  dust.  Suddenly  Mr.  Wright  reeled 
in  tlie  saddle. 

"Save  yourself!"  he  gasped.  "Tell  Masterson  and 
the  boys " 

The  rest  was  lost  to  Higginson  Peabody,  for  Mr. 


152  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Wright's  pony,  evidently  as  badly  wounded  as  its  rider, 
began  falling  to  the  rear. 

On  tore  Higginson  Peabody.  Dodge  at  last !  Draw- 
ing a  deep  breath  he  swept  down  the  main  street  like  a 

>  tornado. 

t       ^'Indians !   Indians !"  yelled  Higginson  Peabody. 

Arriving  opposite  its  home  corral  the  pony  set  four 
hoofs  and  skated;  recovering,  it  wheeled  to  the  left. 
Higginson  Peabody,  by  these  abrupt  manoeuvres,  was 
spilled  from  the  saddle  "like  a  pup  from  a  basket,"  ac- 
cording to  Mr.  Kelly,  who  watched  the  ceremony  from 
the  Alhambra  door. 

Higginson  Peabody  reached  the  grass  in  a  convenient 
ball.  After  a  prolonged  roll  of  twenty  feet  he  scrambled 
up  uninjured. 

"Get  your  guns !"  he  cried  to  jNIr.  Kelly,  and  then  be- 
gan to  run. 

It  was  afterward  a  matter  of  regret  in  Dodge  that  no 
arrangements  had  been  made  for  timing  Higginson  Pea- 
body. He  had  only  covered  one  hundred  yards  when  he 
ran  into  the  arms  of  Mr.  IMasterson,  but  it  was  the  dis- 
passionate judgment  of  both  Mr.  Kelly  and  Mr.  Short, 
who,  from  their  respective  houses  of  entertainment,  re- 
viewed the  feat,  that  he  did  those  one  hundred  yards  in 
better  than  ten  seconds.  Indeed,  so  much  was  popular 
admiration  excited  by  the  winged  work  of  Higginson 


WHY  THE  WEEKLY  PLANET  DIED     153 

Peabody  that,  in  commemoration  thereof,  Dodge  re- 
named him  the  "Jackrabbit,"  by  which  honourable  ap- 
pellation he  was  ever  afterward  known  to  its  generous 
inhabitants. 

"Get  your  guns !"  shouted  Higginson  Peabody  when 
stopped  by  the  outspread  arms. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  asked  Mr.  Masterson. 

"Indians!"  yelled  the  fugitive,  making  an  effort  to 
resume  his  flight. 

"Come,"  said  Mr.  Masterson,  refusing  to  be  shaken 
off,  "it's  only  a  joke.  What  you  need  now  is  a  drink. 
Let's  push  for  Luke  Short's." 

While  Higginson  Peabody  stood  at  the  Long  Branch 
bar  and  restored  that  confidence  in  liis  fellow-men  which  a 
two-days'  stay  in  Dodge  had  done  much  to  shake,  Cimar- 
ron Bill  and  a  select  bevy,  clad  in  full  Cheyenne  regalia, 
faces  painted,  blankets  flying,  feathers  tossing,  came 
whooping  down  the  street.  They  jumped  from  their 
steaming  ponies  and  joined  Mr.  Masterson  and  their 
victim. 

"The  drinks  is  on  me !"  shouted  Cimarron  Bill,  ^ving 
the  counter  a  resounding  slap.  "Which  I'm  as  dry  as  a 
covered  bridge !" 

"The  drinks  is  on  the  house,"  said  Mr.  Short,  severely. 
Then  to  Higginson  Peabody,  "Here's  to  you,  stranger! 
An'  let  me  say,"  concluded  Mr.  Short,  while  a  colour  of 


154  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

compliment  showed  through  his  tones,  "that  if  ever  you 
do  run  a  footrace  I'll  string  my  money  on  you." 

As  he  considered  the  incident,  Higginson  Peabody 
was  inclined  to  refuse  the  boon  of  Mr.  Wright's  further 
acquaintance,  but  Mr.  Masterson  and  Mr.  Kelly  ex- 
plained that  to  do  so  would  be  regarded,  by  the  liberal 
sentiment  of  Dodge,  as  churlish  in  the  extreme. 

"That  scamper  into  camp,"  urged  Mr.  Kelly, 
"oughtn't  to  count.  It's  only  folks  we  like  an'  intend 
to  adopt  into  our  midst  on  whom  we  confer  them  rites 
of  initiation." 

"That's  whatever,"  observed  Cimarron  Bill,  who  came 
up.  "Which  we  shore  wouldn't  take  that  much  trouble 
with  any  gent  onless  we  liked  liim." 

During  his  last  ^-ear  at  Harvard  Higginson  Peabody 
edited  the  college  paper,  and  that,  when  he  landed  in 
Dodge,  had  been  the  whole  of  his  journalistic  experience. 
While  he  conducted  that  vehicle  of  college  information 
his  one  notable  triumph  was  an  article  on  Bible  reading, 
in  which  he  urged  that  all  Bibles  be  bound  in  red.  He 
pointed  out  an  inherent  interest  to  abide  in  red  and 
quoted  its  effect  on  turkey  gobblers.  On  the  other  hand, 
black,  the  usual  cover-colour  of  Bibles,  was  a  hue  sorrow- 
ful and  repellant;  so  far  from  inviting  human  interest, 
it  daunted  it.  Higginson  Peabody  insisted  that  were 
every  copy  of  the  scriptures  bound  in  red  a  score  would 


WHY  THE  WEEKLY  PLANET  DIED     155 

read  where  only  one  perused  them  in  their  black  uniform 
of  gloom.  This  article  gained  him  the  compliment  of  a 
reprimand  from  the  university  heads  and  an  accusation 
on  the  part  of  rivals  that  he  was  trying  to  promote  an 
importance  for  liis  college  colours. 

Notwithstanding  this  meagre  apprenticeship  In  jour- 
nalism Higginson  Peabody,  from  its  initial  issue,  made 
the  Weekly  Planet  a  highly  readable  paper.  This  was 
peculiarly  the  case  after  he,  on  Mr.  Masterson's  endorse- 
ment, had  added  Jack  to  his  staff.  It  was  Jack  who 
brought  in  those  spicy  personal  items  which  told  in  com- 
plimentary fashion  the  daily  or  rather  nightly  doings  at 
Mr.  Kelly's  Alhambra,  Mr.  Short's  Long  Branch,  Mr. 
Webster's  Alamo,  and  Mr.  Peacock's  Dance  Hall,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  Dodge  Opera  House  and  Mr.  Wright's 
store,  and  which  caused  every  reader  to  pick  up  the 
paper  with  pleasure  and  lay  it  down  with  regret.  Also, 
it  was  Jack  who  taught  Higginson  Peabody  the  money 
value  of  a  line  of  advertising  that  published  cattle 
brands  and  set  forth  the  boundaries  of  ranges,  so  that 
round-up  outfits  might  intelligently  hold  the  herds  and 
cut  out  each  ranchman's  cattle  in  what  regions  they  be- 
longed. Indeed,  with  Jack  at  his  elbow  Higginson  Pea- 
body carried  the  Weekly  Planet  to  a  point  where  it 
almost  paid. 

It  was  when  the  Weekly  Planet  had  counted  its  thlr- 


156  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

teenth  issue  that  Higglnson  Pcabody  took  up  tlie  ques- 
tion of  a  circulation.  At  that  time  the  paper  owned  but 
thirty-four  subscribers.  Dodge  was  small ;  the  paper 
could  be  passed  from  hand  to  hand ;  those  thirty-four 
copies,  during  the  seven  days  when  they  were  fresh,  were 
read  and  appreciated  by  every  eye  in  Dodge.  Under  i 
such  circumstances  thirt^^-four  copies  would  be  enough ; 
the  demands  of  Dodge  did  not  call  for  any  more. 
Clearly,  some  argument  beyond  the  argument  of  mere 
news  was  required  to  build  up  a  Weekly  Planet  circula- 
tion. 

Higginson  Peabody,  in  conference  with  Jack,  said 
that  he  thought  of  starting  a  baby  contest.  The  paper 
would  offer  a  prize  for  the  most  beautiful  baby  in  Dodge. 

Jack  stood  like  a  rock  against  this  proposition.  He 
showed  how  in  all  Dodge  there  were  but  two  babies,  and 
that  the  mother  in  each  marvellous  instance  held  her 
darling  to  be  a  cherub  fresh  descended  from  on  high. 
That  mother  would  make  trouble  for  the  Weekly  Planet 
and  all  connected  therewith  if  any  rival  infant  were 
pitched  upon  as  that  cherub's  superior. 

*'The  mother,"  said  Jack,  ominously,  "whose  young 
one  got  beat  would  let  her  hair  down  her  back,  give  her 
war-yell,  and  simply  leave  the  Weekly  Planet  on  both 
sides  of  the  Arkansaw.  Besides,  that  gent  don't  jingle 
a  spur  in  Dodge  who's  game  to  act  as  judge.     But," 


WHY  THE  WEEKLY  PLANET  DIED     15T 

continued  Jack,  when  Higginson  Peabody,  impressed  by 
the  serpent-Kke  wisdom  of  his  young  assistant,  had  aban- 
doned every  notion  of  a  baby  contest,  "I've  thought  up 
a  play  that  ought  to  make  the  paper  as  popular  as 
tortillas  with  a  Mexican.  How  about  a  pie  contest? 
Wouldn't  that  meet  the  needs  of  the  hour?"  And  Jack's 
mouth  took  on  an  unctous  expression. 

Jack  explained  his  scheme.  The  WeeJcly  Planet  would 
offer  a  five-years'  subscription,  free,  for  the  best  pie,  any 
sort  or  species,  sent  to  its  editorial  rooms,  accompanied 
by  the  name  of  the  authoress,  within  four  calendar 
weeks  of  the  announcement. 

"We  want  to  personally  interest  the  ladies,"  said  Jack, 
"and  a  pie  contest  will  do  it." 

Higginson  Peabody  was  struck  by  the  original  force 
of  Jack's  suggestion.  Hailing  from  what  Mr.  Warner 
called  "the  region  of  perpetual  pie,"  he  could  appreciate 
its  merits.     He  put  but  one  question : 

"Whom  shall  we  name  as  judge?"  Higginson  Pea- 
body also  added  that  it  was  beyond  his  own  genius  to 
act  in  that  capacity,  alleging  a  dyspepsia. 

Jack's  eyes  lit  up  like  the  windows  of  a  hurdy-gurdy 
on  the  evening  of  a  fandango. 

*'FI1  be  judge,"  said  Jack. 

The  value  of  a  pie  contest  as  a  spur  to  circulation 
gained     immediate    exhibition.      The     Weekli/    Planet 


158  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

jumped  from  thirty-four  to  one  hundred  and  ten,  and 
new  subscriptions  coming  every  hour. 

Also,  pies  began  to  appear — pies  of  every  kind.  There 
was  the  morose  mince,  the  cheerful  dried  apple,  the  se- 
date pumpkin,  the  consoling  custard,  the  flippant  plum; 
every  variety  of  dried  or  canned  goods  on  Mr.  Wright's  » 
broad  shelves  was  drawn  upon  to  become  the  basis  of 
pie. 

Since  no  limit  had  been  placed  upon  her  labours,  every 
fair  contestant  sent  ardent  scores  of  entries.  Lest  one 
baking  had  been  slightly  burned  on  the  under  crust,  each 
lady  broke  forth  in  further  bakings,  and  by  the  end  of 
the  second  day  of  that  rivalry  pies  had  accumulated  on 
the  premises  of  the  Weekly  Planet  by  the  gross.  They 
were  stacked  up  in  tiers  of  twelve  on  the  editorial  table, 
they  covered  printing-press  and  make-up  stones,  there 
were  no  chairs  left  and  hardly  room  rcmai]ied  to  move 
about  among  the  cases  because  of  pics.  And  the  end 
was  not  yet;  the  tliird  day  opened  with  an  aggregate 
consignment  of  eighty  pies,  and  each  confection  a  hope- 
ful claimant  of  that  five-years'  free  subscription. 

When  Jack  evolved  a  pic  contest  he  had  no  fore- 
knowledge of  what  would  be  its  fatal  popularity.  In 
proposing  to  act  as  judge  of  that  pastry  competition  he 
in  no  wise  foresaw  the  pie-deluge  which  would  set  in. 
Still,  being  of  the  material  from  which  heroes  are  made, 


WHY  THE  WEEKLY  PLANET  DIED     159 

Jack  bore  himself  doughtily.  The  first  day  he  ate  twenty- 
eight  pies  ;  the  second  day  he  got  no  further  than  twenty ; 
on  the  third  day,  with  two  hundred  untouched  pies  await- 
ing his  sampling  tooth,  Jack  fell  ill. 

"Of  course,"  said  Jack,  feebly,  "I  could  go  on,  I 
s'ppose,  and  I'll  sell  my  life  dearly ;  but  what's  the  use? 
What  could  one  boy  do  against  two  hundred  pies  ?" 

Jack  was  undeniably  111,  but  as  one  whose  spirit  re- 
mains unconquerable,  he  would  not  go  to  bed.  Although 
he  could  not  look  at  a  pie,  he  appeared  about  the  office, 
like  some  criminal  ghost  obliged  to  haunt  the  scenes  of  Its 
malefactions.  And  Jack  was  still  capable  of  a  sugges- 
tion. It  was  by  his  word  that  the  three  printers  were 
named  as  an  auxiliary  commission  to  aid  In  formmg  an 
official  judgment  of  those  pies. 

It  was  of  scant  avail.  At  the  close  of  the  fifth  day 
the  foreman  came  to  HIgglnson  Peabody  wearing  a  look 
of  defeat.  Even  three  printers  had  been  powerless  be- 
fore that  storm  of  pie. 

"Bill's  down  an'  out,"  said  the  foreman,  dejectedly. 
Bill  was  one  of  the  two  journeymen  printers.  "It  was 
a  lemon  pie  Miss  Casey  made  that  floored  him.  To  get 
the  kinks  out  o'  Bill  I  had  to  give  him  a  gallon  of  Kelly's 
best  Old  Jordan,  an'  at  that  he  ain't  been  the  same  man 
since." 

"What  shall  we  do?"   queried  HIgglnson  Peabody, 


160  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

desperately.  "We'll  be  buried  alive  beneath  an  avalanche 
of  pie!" 

The  foreman  was  a  fertile  printer,  and  thought  he 
might  find  a  purchaser  for  those  pies.  Higginson  Pea- 
body  recklessly  authorised  him  in  that  behalf.  Borrow- 
ing a  pony  from  Mr.  Trask's  corral,  the  foreman  went 
to  Cimarron  and  arranged  for  the  disposal  of  present 
as  well  as  future  pies  at  the  rate  of  a  dollar  the  dozen 
pies,  to  INIr.  Ingalls  of  the  Golden  Rod  restaurant.  The 
following  evening  the  premises  of  the  WeeMy  Planet 
were  happily  free  from  pies,  and  the  greenish  cast  in 
Jack's  cheek  was  giving  way  to  the  old-time  hue  of 
boyish  health. 

No  hann  would  have  come,  and  the  Weelcly  Planet 
might  have  continued  in  its  useful  orbit  undisturbed,  had 
it  not  been  for  a  visit  ^lat  Aunt  Nettie  Dawson  paid  to 
Cimarron.  Aunt  Nettie  was  sedately  walking  in  Cimar- 
ron's only  thoroughfare,  intent  on  naught  save  a  social 
hour  with  a  valued  friend,  resident  of  that  hamlet,  when 
her  glance  was  arrested  b}'^  a  certain  pie  in  the  window 
of  the  Golden  Rod.  It  was  of  the  mince  family,  and  its 
top  crust  was  ornamented  with  sundry  nicks  and  I 
flourishes,  made  by  the  point  of  a  knife,  and  which  in 
their  whole  effect  resembled  the  remains  of  a  pair  of 
centipedes  that  had  met  a  violent  death.  Aunt  Nettie 
put  on  her  glasses,  took  a  second  look  to  make  sure,  and 


WHY  THE  WEEKLY  PLANET  DIED     161 

then  stalked  into  the  Golden  Rod,  demanding  its  pro- 
prietor by  name. 

"Wherever  did  you-all  get  my  pie,  Bill  Ingalls?"  was 
the  question  which  Aunt  Nettie  put.  The  frown  that 
darkened  her  brow  was  like  a  threat. 
]  Mr.  Ingalls,  commonly,  was  a  brave  and  truthful 
man,  and  yet  he  told  Aunt  Nettie  that  he  didn't  know. 
Mr.  Ingalls  said  that  the  particular  pie  to  which  she 
pointed  was  a  mystery  and  its  origin  wrapped  in  fog. 
Aunt  Nettie  snorted. 

"You  needn't  lie  to  me,  Bill  Ingalls,"  she  retorted; 
"you  got  it  of  that  beanstalk  editor.  I'll  show  that 
cheap  Yankee  who  he's  foolin'  with  as  soon  as  ever  I  see 
Dodge  ag'in." 

Higginson  Peabody  was  discussing  some  subject  of 
Weekly  Planet  economy  with  Jack  when  Aunt  Nettie 
came  in.  Jack,  being  a  frontier  lad  and  keen  to  every 
sign  of  danger,  realised  the  storm  in  its  approach  and 
fled  for  Mr.  Masterson.  His  chief,  less  ahve  to'  the 
peril,  turned  pleasantly  on  Aunt  Nettie. 

"What  can  I  do,  Miss  Dawson?"  he  said. 

"Where's  that  mince  I  sent  y'  yisterday?"  demanded 
Aunt  Nettie,  manner  as  brittle  and  as  hard  as  glass. 
"It's  got  two  fern  leaves  marked  on  the  klver." 

Higginson  Peabody  said  never  a  word;  panting  like 
some  trapped  animal,  he  could  only  look  at  Aunt  Nettie. 


162  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Then  Aunt  Nettie  unfurlcfl  the  story  of  his  perfidy. 

"An*  so,'*  said  Aunt  Nettie,  in  sour  conclusion,  "you 
allowed  you'd  dee-fraud  us  ladies  of  Dodge  into  bakin' 
onlimited  pies  for  them  drunkards  over  in  Cimarron !" 

Aunt  Nettie  made  a  house  to  house  canvass  and  told 
each  lady  the  story  of  their  mutual  wrongs.  There  was 
a  scurrying  round-up  of  shawls  and  shakers.  Witliin 
thirty  minutes  fourscore  pie  contestants,  Aunt  Nettie  at 
their  angry  head,  were  moving  on  the  office  of  the  Weekly 
Planet.  They  found  the  door  closed  and  locked.  Mr. 
Masterson,  urged  by  Jack  and  realising  the  danger,  had 
been  before  them.  By  advice  of  that  tried  strategist 
Higginson  Peabody  had  barricaded  his  portals.  He 
dragged  the  office  counter  across  the  locked  door  and 
then  cowered  behind  double  defences,  fearing  the  worst. 

*'Never  mind,"  said  Aunt  Nettie,  addressing  her  in- 
jured sisters,  "he's  simply  got  to  come  out,  an'  we'll  jest 
nacherally  camp  on  his  doorstep  till  he  does."  Tliis  last 
ferociously. 

The  Weekly  Planet  was  in  a  state  of  siege,  and  word 
of  that  beleaguerment  went  through  Dodge  like  wildfire. 
With  scared  faces  Mr.  Wright,  ]Mr.  Masterson,  ]\lr. 
Short,  Mr.  Trask,  Mr.  Kelly  and  others  among  the 
town's  bravest  spirits,  gathered  for  conference  in  the 
Long  Branch. 

*'What  are  we  to  do.^"  asked  INIr.  Masterson,  anxious- 


WHY  THE  WEEKLY  PLANET  DIED     16S 

]y.  "I  don't  want  to  be  understood  as  shirking  a  duty, 
but  if  I'd  known  there  was  to  be  any  such  feminine  up- 
rising as  tliis  I'd  never  been  sheriff  of  Ford." 

Mr.  Wright  made  a  despairing  gesture. 

"I  haven't,"  said  IMr.  Wright,  "felt  so  he'pless  an' 
unprotected  since  Mr.  Lee's  surrender," 

"What  be  we  to  do.?"  and  Mr.  Kelly  repeated  Mr. 
Masterson's  question.  Then,  as  though  making  reply: 
"Whatever  can  we  do.''  Thar's  them  ladies  on  the  war- 
path, an'  Aunt  Nettie  at  their  head!  She's  that  in- 
flexible, granite's  easy  to  her !  An'  as  for  courage,  Aunt 
Nettie  teaches  it.  Thar's  notliin'  she's  feared  of  on  four 
legs  or  two." 

"Yes  thar  is,"  Interjected  Cimarron  Bill,  who  stood 
listening.     "Which  Aunt  Nettie's  timid  of  cows." 

There  was  a  suggestion  in  the  remark;  strung  like  a 
bow  by  the  difficulties  of  the  situation  Mr.  Masterson 
seized  upon  it.  Two  words  to  Cimarron  Bill  and  in  an- 
other moment  that  hard-riding  gentleman  and  a  dozen 
hard-riding  companions  were  cinching  the  hulls  onto 
their  ponies  in  Mr.  Trask's  corral.  Once  in  the  saddle, 
away  they  tore  for  the  river  and  began  scrambling 
across,  through  deeps  and  shallows,  with  dire  riot  and 
uproar. 

On  the  south  side  of  the  river,  up  to  their  stolid 
knees    in   the   rank    grasses,    were   from   fifty    to   one 


164  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

hundred  head  of  cattle.  These  tossed  wondering  horns 
and  blew  loudly  through  their  noses  as  Cimarron  Bill 
and  liis  mates  came  charging  across.  Their  rumina- 
tions suffered  further  disturbance  when,  with  headlong 
speed,  those  charging  ones  fell  bodily  upon  them, 
rounded  them  up,  hurled  them  into  the  river  and 
sent  them  for  the  north  bank  on  the  jump.  With 
bellow  of  protest  the  outraged  cattle  were  inished 
along.  Once  on  the  north  bank  they  were  cleverly 
bunched  and,  still  on  the  canter,  swung  do^vTi  on  the 
office  of  the  Weekly  Planet. 

The  first  to  observe  the  approach  of  that  homed 
phalanx,  with  the  urgent  riders  whooping  and  dashing 
about  in  the  rear,  was  Miss  Casey  of  the  lemon  pies. 

"Oh,  look  at  them  awful  cows,  Miss  Dawson,  dear!" 
she  screamed,  and  pointed  with  horrified  finger. 

Not  alone  Aunt  Nettie,  but  every  lady  looked.  It  was 
enough ;  there  was  a  chorus  of  squeaks,  a  vast  flutter  of 
skirts,  and  the  fair  vigilantes,  gathered  to  revenge  their 
betrayed  pies,  had  scattered  like  a  flock  of  blackbirds. 
'  Aunt  Nettie  was  the  last  to  go.  She  gazed  at  the  on- 
coming cattle  as  they  swept  down  upon  the  Weekly 
Planet,  with  lowered  horn  and  steamy  nostril;  she  iden- 
tified her  recreant  nephew,  Cimarron  Bill,  and  knew  the 
whole  as  a  masterpiece  of  Mastersonian  diplomacy. 

*'The  cowards !"  she  exclaimed. 


WHY  THE  WEEKLY  PLANET  DIED     165 

Then  Aunt  Nettie  clawed  her  petticoats  about  her  and 
skurried  after  the  others.  The  next  moment  the  push- 
ing, mining,  foaming  band  were  j  ammed  and  held  about 
the  building  of  the  Weekly  Planet.  The  ruse  had 
worked,  the  siege  was  lifted. 

Mr.  Masterson,  on  his  best  pony  and  with  a  lead  pony 
by  the  bridle,  made  his  way  through  the  herd  to  the  door. 

"Don't  waste  a  moment,"  cried  ]Mr.  Masterson  to  Hig- 
ginson  Peabody,  tossing  him  the  reins  of  the  lead  pony 
the  moment  that  journalist  could  be  prevailed  on  to  open 
his  doors  ;  "into  the  saddle  with  you  and  head  for  Cimar- 
ron. As  sheriff  of  Ford  I'll  see  you  safe  as  far  as  the 
county  line." 

When  Mr.  Masterson,  with  Higginson  Peabody,  drew 
bridle  at  the  boundary  line  between  Ford  and  Gray  coun- 
ties, Mr.  Masterson  gave  the  other  his  hand. 

"Look  out  for  yourself,"  he  said ;  "catch  the  express 
for  the  East !" 

"Don't  you  think,"  inquired  Higginson  Peabody, 
quaveringly,  "that  after  the  excitement  cools  off  I  can 
come  back.'*" 

Mr.  Masterson  firmly  shook  his  head. 

"There  isn't  a  chance,"  said  he.  "If  they  were  white 
men,  or  even  Cheyennes,  I'd  say  'Yes.'  But  they're 
ladies,  and  you  know  what  ladies  are!  I'm  reckoned 
A  judge  in  matters  of  life  and  death,  and  I  tell  you 


IGG  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

frankly  that  if  it  were  twenty  years  from  now,  and  you 
showed  up  in  Dodge,  I  wouldn't  guarantee  your  game 
a  moment." 


CHAPTER    VIII. 
^.V  INVASION  OF  DODGE. 

AFTER  Mr.  Masterson  killed  Messrs.  Wagner 
and  Walker,  who  murdered  liis  brotlier  Ed,  the 
word  of  that  bloodshed  was  not  slow  in  reaching 
Texas.  The  tale,  when  told  throughout  those  cow- 
camps  whose  hundred  fires  winked  along  the  Canadian, 
aroused  an  interest  the  fundamental  element  whereof 
was  wrath.  ^ 

The  tragedy  deeply  displeased  all  Texas  people  of 
cows.  The  dead  gentlemen  had  been  Texans.  Mr.  Mas- 
terson, on  the  exasperating  other  hand,  was  an  emana- 
tion of  Illinois.  That  he  was  sheriff  of  Ford  owned  no 
importance.  That  Messrs.  Wagner  and  Walker  had  slain 
Mr.  jNIasterson's  brother  and  were  killed  wliile  their  liands 
were  red  was  permitted  to  have  no  weight.  Cowboys  are 
a  volatile  lot;  they  probe  no  question  over-deep,  surely 
none  so  coiimionplace  as  a  question  of  homicide.  Where- 
fore,  in  connection  with   the  blinking  out   of   INIessre, 

167 


168  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Wagner  and  Walker,  they  of  Texas  chose  to  consider 
only  tlie  Texas  origin  of  deceased.  Angry  with  the 
injured  vanity  of  tribe,  they  spake  evil  of  Mr.  Masterson 
and  nursed  vague  feuds  against  him  in  their  hearts. 

There  was  a  Mr.  Gato,  just  then  riding  for  the 
Turkey  Track.  Mr.  Gato  was  neither  old  nor  reputable. 
He  is  dead  now,  and  the  ravens  and  coyotes  have 
wrangled  over  his  ignoble  bones.  Other  Turkey  Track 
boys  called  Mr.  Gato  the  "Tomcat" — this  latter  to  give 
his  name  in  English. 

Mr,  Gato  was  native  of  the  Panhandle.  Twenty-three 
years  before,  his  INIexican  father  and  Comanche  mother 
had  had  a  family  row  in  selecting  for  him  a  name.  His 
mother  desired  to  call  him  two  or  three  Comanche  gut- 
terals  which,  when  hyphenated,  stand  for  Scorpion.  It 
was  a  notion  not  without  merit;  but  his  Mexican  father 
objected,  hence  that  household  jar.  The  padre  of  their 
church  came  finally  to  the  rescue  and  led  the  clashing 
couple  to  "Patricio"  as  a  compromise.  The  infant, 
howhng  like  a  pagan,  was  baptised  "Patricio  Gato." 
Next  day  everybody  forgot  all  about  it  as  a  thing  of 
little  consequence.  As  set  forth,  however,  his  mates  of 
the  ranges  renamed  Mr.  Gato  the  "Tomcat."  On  second 
thought  it  may  be  just  as  well  to  follow  their  example; 
the  word  will  sound  more  convincing  to  American  ears. 

If  the  Tomcat  had  been  all  Mexican  or  all  Comanche 


AN  INVASION  OF  DODGE  169 

this  leaf  might  never  have  been  written.  But  he  was 
half  Mexican  and  half  Comanche,  and  the  blend  was  mi- 
fortunate.  The  Tomcat,  ignorant,  vicious,  furtive, 
savage,  was  upon  an  intellectual  level  with  the  wolf,  and 
of  impulses  as  secret  and  as  midnight.  Also,  he  was 
dominated  of  an  inborn  pride  to  shed  blood.  He  had 
been  withheld  from  feeding  that  pride  by  stress  of  the 
rickety  cross  in  liis  veins ;  he  lacked  the  downright  cour- 
age which  was  the  enterprise's  first  demand. 

The  riders  of  the  Turkey  Track  were  fairly  aware  of 
the  Tomcat's  congenital  depravity.  In  regions  where 
there  is  but  little  of  the  law,  as  against  a  deal  of  the  in- 
dividual, men  who  would  call  themselves  secure  must 
learn  to  estimate  the  folk  about  them.  And  they  do.  It 
was  common  knowledge,  therefore,  that  the  Tomcat  was 
blood-hungry.  It  was  likewise  known  that  his  hardi- 
hood in  no  sort  matched  his  crimson  appetite.  As  spoke 
Mr.  Cook — a  promising  youth  was  Mr.  Cook,  and  one 
wise  of  his  generation : 

"He'd  admire  to  take  a  skelp,  that  Tomcat  would,  but 
he's  shy  the  sand." 

This  was  Turkey  Track  decision,  and,  since  it  was  so, 
the  Tomcat  went  vested  of  no  personal  terrors.  He  was 
not  loved,  but  he  was  not  feared ;  and  his  low  standing  in 
that  community — if  so  sparse  a  thing  as  a  cow-camp 
may  be  thus  described — of  which  he  was  a  f  ameless  unit. 


170  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

found  suggestion  in  occasional  sneers  of  more  or  less 
broadish  point,  the  latter  contingent  on  the  vivacious 
recklessness  of  the  author  in  each  instance. 

The  Tomcat,  during  their  lives,  had  not  been  num- 
bered among  the  friends  of  Messrs.  Wagner  and  Walker. 
He  was  not  possessed  of  even  a  drinking  acquaintance 
with  those  vanished  ones.  Indeed,  he  never  so  much  as 
heard  of  their  existence  until  he  heard  that  they  were 
dead.  It  is  due  the  Tomcat  to  say  that  this  was  chance 
and  not  because  of  any  social  delicacy  on  the  part  of 
the  ones  departed. 

Despite  a  lack  of  personal  interest,  while  the  Tomcat 
listened  to  the  sour  comments  of  those  spurred  and- 
broad-brimmed  ones  of  Texas  as  the  story  of  Mr.  Mas- 
terson's  pistol  practice  found  relation,  a  thought  took 
struggling  shape  in  the  narrow  fastnesses  of  his  wit. 
He  would  ride  those  two  hundred  northward  miles  to 
Dodge  and  destroy  Mr.  IMasterson.  Throughout  two 
seasons  he  had  gone  with  the  beef  herds  over  the  Jones 
and  Plummer  trail,  and,  since  the  terminus  of  that  thor- 
oughfare lay  in  Dodge,  he  knew  the  way. 

Also,  at  those  beef  times  he  had  been  given  glimpses 
of  Mr.  Masterson,  about  the  streets  in  his  role  of  pro- 
tector of  the  public  peace.  The  Tomcat  did  not  recall 
Mr.  Masterson  as  one  uncommonly  dangerous.  He  re- 
membered him  as  of  middle  size  and  a  tolerant,  thought- 


^xV  INVASION  OF  DODGE  171 

ful  eye.  The  Tomcat,  when  he  thus  gazed  on  Mr. 
Masterson,  was  somewhat  thickened  of  drink.  Still,  had 
Mr.  Masterson  been  more  than  usually  perilous,  the 
fact  would  have  left  some  impress  upon  liim,  however 
steeped  in  rum.  No ;  he  was  convinced  that  Mr.  Master- 
son  was  not  a  problem  beyond  his  powers.  He  would  re- 
pair to  Dodg-e  and  solve  Mr.  Masterson  with  his  six- 
shooter. 

Whenever  he  should  return  to  the  Panhandle,  bearing 
Mr.  Masterson's  hair  upon  liis  bridle-rein,  the  Tomcat 
foresaw  how  his  status  as  one  of  iron-bound  fortitude 
would  be  thereby  and  instantly  fixed.  He  would  be  placed 
in  the  deadly  foreground  with  such  worthies  as  Doc 
Holiday,  Shotgun  Collins,  Curly  Bill  and  Soapy  Smith. 
Poets  would  make  verses  about  him  as  they  had  about 
the  sainted  Samuel  Bass,  dance-hall  maidens  would  sing 
his  glory  in  quavering  quatrains.  Thus  dreamed  the 
Tomcat  on  the  banks  of  the  Canadian  as  he  lay  by  a 
Turkey  Track  campfire,  while  his  comrades  declaimed 
of  Mr.  Masterson  and  the  sorrowful  taking  off  of 
Messrs.  Wagner  and  Walker,  aforesaid.  It  was  the 
Tomcat's  vision  of  fame;  rude,  bloody,  criminal,  but 
natural  for  the  man  and  the  day  and  the  land  it  grew 
among. 

It  was  in  the  hot  middle  hours  of  the  afternoon.  The 
Tomcat  had  came  into  camp  bringing  five  cows  with  their 


172  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

unmarked  offspring — this  was  the  spring  round-up. 
The  five  cows  with  their  bawhng  cliildren  were  thrown 
into  the  general  buncli,  which  would  start  next  day  for 
the  branding  pen. 

Having  gotten  a  mouthful  at  the  grub-wagon  the 
Tomcat  thoughtfully  walked  his  tired  bronco  towards 
the  band  of  ponies  which  the  horse-hustler  was  holding 
in  the  bottom  grass  that  bordered  the  Canadian.  There 
were  eight  riders  with  this  particular  outfit.  Wherefore 
the  band  of  ponies  counted  about  sixty  head,  for  each 
cowboy  employs  from  seven  to  ten  personal  ponies  in  his 
labours  and  rides  down  three  a  day. 

The  Tomcat's  pregnant  purpose  formed  the  night  be- 
fore was  in  no  sort  abated ;  it  had  grown  more  clear  and 
strong  with  the  hours.  It  looked  sensibly  feasible,  too, 
as  all  things  do  when  miles  and  weeks  away.  The  Tom- 
cat was  wholly  decided ;  he  would  ride  to  Dodge  and  col- 
lect the  hair  of  the  offensive  Mr.  Masterson.  Likewise, 
since  the  idea  improved  upon  him  pleasantly,  he  would 
start  at  once. 

In  and  out  among  the  grazing  ponies  wound  the  Tom- 
cat. At  last  he  discovered  what  he  sought.  He  pitched 
the  loop  of  liis  rope  over  the  head  of  a  little  bay,  with 
four  black  legs  and  an  eye  like  the  full-blown  moon. 

This  pony  had  name  for  speed  and  bottom.  He  had 
come  from  the.  ranges  of  the  Triangle-dot,  whose  ponies, 


^iV  INVASION  OF  DODGE  173 

as  all  the  cow-world  knows,  have  in  them  a  streak  of  the 
thoroughbred.  The  one  roped  by  the  Tomcat,  carrying 
a  thirty-pound  saddle  and  a  hundred-and-fifty-pound 
man,  could  put  one  hundred  even  miles  behind  him  be- 
tween dark  and  dark.  He  had  never  tasted  anytliing 
better  than  mother's  milk  and  grass  and  would  have 
drawn  back  and  hollj'^hocked  his  nostrils  at  an  ear  of 
yallow  com  as  though  that  vegetable  were  a  rattle- 
snake. 

As  the  Tomcat  was  shifting  his  saddle  from  the  weary 
one  to  the  pony  freshly  caught  the  horse-hustler  came 
riding  out  from  the  shadow  of  a  cottonwood. 

*'I  wouldn't  be  In  your  saddle,"  observed  the  horse- 
hustler  to  the  Tomcat,  busy  over  his  girths,  "for  the 
price  of  fifty  steers  if  Jack  Cook  crosses  up  with  you  on 
his  little  Shylock  hoss."  The  name  of  the  bay  pony  was 
the  name  of  Shakespeare's  Jew. 

Upon  a  round-up  a  cowpony  has  two  proprietors.  His 
title,  doubtless.  Is  vested  In  the  ranch  whose  brand  he 
wears.  Body  and  soul,  however,  he  belongs  to  that  cow- 
boy to  whom  he  is  told  off.  Each  boy  has  his  string,  and 
any  other  boy  would  as  soon  think  of  rifling  that  youth's 
warbags  as  riding  one  of  his  ponies  without  permission. 
The  pony  from  whose  neck  still  hung  the  detaining 
lariat  of  the  Tomcat  had  been  detailed  by  the  Turkey 
Track  to  the  use  and  behoof  of  Mr.  Cook. 


174  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

"Jack  said  I  could  take  him,"  returned  the  Tomcat 
as  he»Ieaped  into  the  saddle. 

This  was  a  lie,  but  the  horse-hustler  never  mistrusted. 
It  was  not  that  he  had  faith  in  the  veracity  of  the  Tom- 
cat, but  he  relied  upon  his  want  of  courage.  Mr.  Cook, 
while  an  excellent  soul  in  the  main,  was  prey  to  restless 
petulances.  The  horse-hustler  did  not  believe  that  the 
Tomcat  would  intromit  with  the  possessions  of  Mr.  Cook 
lacking  that  gentleman's  consent.  When  Shylock  was 
ready  the  Tomcat  turned  his  nervous  muzzle  towards  the 
north  and  was  off  at  a  cheerful  road-gait. 

While  scrambling  up  an  arroya  and  pointing  for  the 
table-lands  be3^ond,  the  Tomcat  ran  into  Mr.  Cook,  pick- 
ing his  way  towards  the  outfit's  evening  camp.  jMr. 
Cook  was  surprised  at  the  picture  of  the  Tomcat  astride 
his  sacred  Shylock.  The  Tomcat  appeared  dashed,  not 
to  say  dismayed,  by  the  meeting. 

"What  be  you-all  doin'  on  my  Shylock?"  demanded 
Mr.  Cook,  his  hand  not  at  all  distant  from  the  butt  of 
his  Colt's-45.  "What  be  you-all  doin'  on  my  Shylock?" 
he  repeated.  Then,  as  the  Tomcat  was  not  ready  with 
an  explanation :  "If  3^ou  can't  talk,  make  signs ;  an'  if  * 
you  can't  make  signs,  shake  a  bush !" 

Since  a  threat  seemed  to  find  lodgment  in  the  manner 
of  the  choleric  Mr.  Cook,  the  Tomcat  deemed  it  wise 
to  be  heard.    Realising  with  a  sigh  that  mendacity  would 


AN  INVASION  OF  DODGE  1T5 

not  clear  the  way,  the  Tomcat,  In  a  cataract  of  con- 
fidence, imparted  to  Mr.  Cook  his  scheme  of  vengeance 
against  jMr.  Masterson. 

"An'  I  ought  to  have  a  good  pony,  Jack,"  pleaded 
the  Tomcat.     "I  may  need  it  to  get  away  on." 

When  the  Tomcat  unfolded  his  plans  to  bring  back 
the  scalp  of  IVIr.  INIasterson,  Mr.  Cook  first  stared  and 
then  went  off  into  a  gale  of  laughter.  He  almost  forgot 
his  valued  Shylock. 

"You  bump  off  Bat  Masterson  !"  he  exclaimed.  "Why, 
iTomcat,  it  needs  the  sharpest  hand  on  the  Canadian  for 
that  job,  needs  somebody  as  good  as  Old  Tom  Harris. 
Better  go  back  to  camp  an'  sleep  it  off.  Bat  Masterson 
W^ould  down  you  like  cuttin'  kyards." 

The  Tomcat,  however,  did  not  waver.  Relieved  when 
he  noted  the  mollified  vein  of  I\Ir.  Cook,  he  urged  his 
claim  for  the  Shylock  pony. 

"Say  'yes,'  Jack,"  said  the  Tomcat,  "an'  I'll  be  back 
in  a  month  with  that  Bat  Masterson's  top-knot  dangling 
from  Shylock's  bits." 

"Well,"  remarked  Mr.  Cook,  giving  space  in  the  ar- 

,  roya^for  the  Tomcat  to  pass,  "onder  the  circumstances 

you-all  can  have  Shylock.     I  don't  feel  like  refusin'  the 

last  request  of  a  dyin'  man.    Ride  on,  an'  may  your  luck 

break  even  with  your  nerve." 

The  Tomcat  went  his  northward  path,  but  in  the 


176  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

treacherous  hollows  of  his  heart  he  hated  Mr.  Cook. 
The  Tomcat  raged  for  that  he  could  not  face  a  white  of 
the  pure  blood  without  turning  craven  to  the  bone.  It 
was  that  recreant  cross  in  his  veins  ;  he  knew,  but  couldn't 
cure  the  defect.  He  could  hold  liis  own  with  a  Comanche, 
he  could  bully  a  Mexican  to  a  standstill,  but  liis  heart 
became  the  heart  of  a  hare  whenever  the  cold,  gray- 
eyed  gaze  of  one  of  clean  white  strain  fell  across  him  in 
hostility.  Halted  by  the  liigh-tempered  Mr.  Cook,  the 
Tomcat  had  fair  melted  in  his  saddle;  and,  wliile  he 
gained  liis  point  and  the  pony,  liis  wolfish  soul  was  set 
none  the  less  on  fire. 

**If  I'd  had  two  drinks  in  me  I'd  shot  it  out  with  him," 
considered  the  Tomcat  by  way  of  consoling  liimself. 
*'I'd  have  filled  him  as  full  of  lead  as  a  bag  of  bullets ! 
After  I  come  back  I'll  nacherally  take  a  crack  at  Jolinny 
Cook.  He  won't  front  up  to  me  so  plumb  confident  an' 
gala  after  I've  killed  Bat  Masterson." 


Dodge  took  no  absorbing  interest  in  the  Tomcat.  His 
kind  was  frequent  in  its  causeways,  and  the  Tomcat  as 
a  specimen  owned  no  attributes  beyond  the  common  save 
an  inordinate  appetite  for  liquor  and  a  Ballard  rifle.  He 
could  drink  more  whisky  than  was  the  custom  of  Dodge ; 
also,  the  Ballard  attracted  attention  in  a  region  where 


AN  INVASION  OF  DODGE  17T 

every  fool  used  a  Winchester  and  every  wise  man  a 
Sharp's.  But  neither  the  Tomcat's  capacity  for  strong 
drink  nor  yet  his  rifle  could  hold  pubhc  curiosity  for 
long,  and  within  ten  minutes  after  he  strode  Into  the 
Alhambra  and  called  for  his  Initial  drink  Dodge  lost 
concern  In  him  and  turned  to  its  own  affairs. 

The  Tomcat,  now  he  was  in  Dodge,  seemed  in  little 
haste  to  search  out  Mr.  Masterson.  This  was  in  no  wise 
strange;  for  one  thing  his  Shy  lock  pony  needed  rest. 
Shylock  had  been  put  in  I\Ir.  Trask's  corral  and,  gorg- 
ing on  alfalfa,  was  bravely  filling  out  the  hollows  of  his 
flanks. 

The  Tomcat  decided  that  he  w^ould  abide  in  Dodge  two 
days  before  sounding  his  warcry.  Then,  just  as  night 
was  drawing,  he  would  saddle  up  and  hunt  the  obnoxious 
Mr.  Masterson.  Upon  meeting  that  officer  the  Tomcat 
would  shoot  him  down.  His  mission  thus  happily  con- 
cluded, he  would  make  a  spurring  rush  Panhandleward. 
Once  on  the  Canadian  he  need  not  fear  for  his  safety. 

Running  the  plan  forward  and  back  In  what  he  called 
his  mind,  the  Tomcat  reflected  on  his  coming  glorious 
reward!  His  daring  manhood  should  be  the  theme  on 
every  lip!  He  would  be  called  no  more  the  "Tomcat," 
but  gain  rebaptism  as  the  *'Man  who  downed  Bat  Mas- 
terson!" The  girls  of  the  hurdy-gurdies  would  set  his 
fame  to  music !    Indeed,  the  Tomcat  foresaw  a  gorgeous 


178  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

picture  when,  returning  to  his  native  hcatJi,  he  should 
wear  laurel  as  that  stout  one  who,  from  the  fame  of 
Texas,  had  washed  a  stain  away.  These  matters  ran 
like  a  millrace  in  the  vainglorious  thoughts  of  the  Tom- 
cat as  he  loafed  about  the  barrooms  of  Dodge  waiting 
for  Shylock  to  recuperate  and  the  moment  of  murder  to 
ripely  arrive. 

On  occasion  the  Tomcat  brushed  by  Mr.  Masterson 
in  the  narrow  walks  of  Dodge.  But  the  Tomcat  did  not 
give  liis  victim-to-be  a  look.  There  was  a  steadfastness 
in  the  stare  of  Mr.  Masterson  that  was  as  disconcerting 
to  the  Tomcat  as  had  been  the  flinty  eye  of  Mr.  Cook 
when  the  latter  brought  him  to  bay  that  evening  in  the 
arroya.  Wherefore  when  they  met,  the  Tomcat  gazed 
up  or  down  the  street,  but  never  once  at  Mr.  Masterson, 
albeit  there  reposed  beneath  his  belt  the  wliiskey  whose 
absence  he  lamented  when  he  quailed  before  the  overbear- 
ing Mr.  Cook. 

*'Never  mind !"  gritted  the  Tomcat  behind  his  teeth ; 
"I'll  try  a  shot  at  him  if  I  swing  for  it." 

It  was  the  day  appointed  by  the  virulent  Tomcat  for 
the  downfall  of  Mr.  Masterson.  The  Tomcat  pro- 
grammed the  slaughter  for  that  last  moment  when  the 
setting  sun  should  touch  the  hard,  gray  skyline.  The 
Tomcat  might  want  in  mental  depth,  but  he  was  clear 
concerning  the  value  of  night  as  a  trail-coverer. 


AN  INVASION  OF  DODGE  179 

Under  the  pressure  of  events  to  come,  the  Tomcat's 
cunning  had  been  so  far  promoted  that  he  even  thought 
of  riding  out  of  Dodge  to  the  north  after  IVIr.  Masterson 
had  been  successfully  obliterated.  Then,  when  it  was 
dark,  he  could  swing  to  the  south ;  not  alone  his  trail, 
but  his  direction  would  be  thus  lost  to  whomsoever 
should  pursue.  A  hot  all-night  ride  should  bring  him  to 
the  Cimarron.  There  he  would  be  out  of  Kansas  and 
into  the  Indian  Territory,  Texas  and  celebration  within 
easy  fling.  Now  all  tliis  might  have  come  to  pass  as 
the  slender  wisdom  of  the  Tomcat  schemed  it  had  it  not 
been  for  the  unexpected. 

It  stood  four  for  the  hour  with  every  honest  clock  in 
Dodge  when  the  Tomcat,  killing  time,  came  into  the 
Alhambra.  There,  among  other  attractions,  he  found 
a  non-committal  Mexican  dealing  monte. 

The  Tomcat  cast  a  careless  dollar  on  the  queen,  and 
lost.  A  second  dollar  vanished  in  pursuit  of  its  prede- 
cessor. At  that  the  Tomcat,  holding  Mexicans  in  cheap 
esteem,  lifted  up  condemnatory  voice. 

"This  is  a  robbers'  roost!"  quoth  the  depleted  Tom- 
cat, "an'  every  gent  in  it  is  a  hoss-thief !" 

INIr.  Kelly,  proprietor  of  the  Alhambra,  was  present, 
dozing  in  a  chair.  The  clamorous  Tomcat  aroused  him 
with  his  uproar.  It  struck  i\Ir.  Kelly  that  the  extrava- 
gance of  the  Tomcat's  remark  multiplied  the  insult  it 


180  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

conveyed.  Without  ado  ]\Ir.  Kelly  arose  and  exhaus- 
tively "buffaloed"  that  individual. 

When  an  offender  is  "buffaloed"  he  is  buffeted,  shoved, 
choked,  manhandled,  and  chucked  into  the  street.  Once 
on  the  sidewalk  he  is  kicked  until  justice  craves  no  more. 
In  this  instance  the  Tomcat  was  excessively  "buffaloed," 
and  at  the  close  of  the  ceremony  crawled  to  the  cheap 
hotel  wherein  he  had  pitched  his  camp,  there  to  nurse  his 
bruises  and  bind  up  his  wounds. 

No,  every  violator  of  Western  ethics  is  not  "buffa- 
loed." It  is  a  method  of  reproof  reserved  for  folk  who 
are  of  slig-ht  estate.  When  one  is  known  for  the  sand- 
stone  sort  of  liis  courage  and  the  dignified  accuracy  of 
his  gun,  he  is  never  "buffaloed."  By  his  achievements 
he  has  raised  himself  superior  to  such  reprimand,  just  as 
a  Sioux  warrior  may  lift  himself  above  the  power  of 
tribal  judges  to  "soldier-kill"  him  for  misdemeanors,  by 
his  prowess  in  the  field.  Only  humble  offenders  are  "buf- 
faloed." Those  whose  eminence  forbids  the  ordeal  may 
be  shot  instead.  When  one  is  too  great  to  be  "buf- 
faloed" he  is  free  to  the  gun  of  any  man  he  injures. 
The  law  has  abandoned  liim  and  his  hand  must  keep  his 
head.  That  the  Tomcat  was  disgracefully  "buffaloed" 
may  be  accepted  as  evidence  that  he  had  no  respectful 
standing  in  Dodge. 

As  stated,  after  he  had  been  "buffaloed"  the  Tomcat 


AN  INVASION  OF  DODGE  181 

withdrew  to  cure  his  aches  while  Mr.  Kelly  modified  his 
own  fatigues  with  three  fingers  of  an  Old  Jordan  which 
he  kept  especially  for  himself.  The  Tomcat  had  been 
so  deeply  "buff'aloed"  that  he  did  not  move  from  liis 
blankets  for  two  days.  Thereby  the  taking  off  of  Mr. 
Masterson  was  deferred.  Indeed,  the  current  of  the 
Tomcat's  blood-desires  found  itself  deflected.  When  he 
again  crept  forth,  his  ambition  to  kill  Mr.  Masterson 
had  been  supplanted  by  a  vengeful  wish  to  murder  Mr. 
Kelly. 

No  one  should  marvel  at  this.  Mr.  Masterson,  ac- 
cording to  the  Tomcat,  had  injured  only  the  Texas 
public.  Mr.  Kelly  had  come  n  ^^  nearly  home  with  in- 
juries personal  to  the  limp  j,^  Tomcat  himself.  AU 
men  prefer  a  private  to  a  public  interest.  It  was  but 
nature  moving  when  the  wronged  Tomcat,  forgetting 
Mr.  Masterson,  for  whose  hair  he  had  come  so  far,  now 
gave  himself  heart  and  soul  to  how  he  might  best  spill 
the  life  of  Mr.  Kelly. 

After  mature  study,  when  now  he  was  again  abroad, 
the  Tomcat  could  devise  nothing  better  than  to  pull  up 
his  pony  in  front  of  the  Alhambra  at  the  hour  of  eight 
in  the  evening  and  attempt,  from  the  saddle,  to  pot  Mr. 
Kelly  with  the  Ballard.  The  Tomcat  banged  away  with 
the  Ballard  all  he  knew,  but  the  enterprise  went  astray 
in  double  fasliion.     The  Tomcat  missed  Mr.  Kelly  by 


182  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

a  wide  foot ;  also,  ho  killed  a  girl  whose  mission  it  had 
been  to  dance  and  sing  in  the  Alhambi'a  for  public  grati- 
fication. 

Shy  lock  jumped  sidewise  at  the  flash,  and  the  Tomcat, 
whose  seat  in  the  saddle  had  not  been  strengthened  by 
his  troubles,  was  thrown  upon  his  head.  Before  he 
might  recover  the  Dodge  populace  had  piled  itself  above 
him,  and  the  Tomcat  was  taken  captive  by  twenty  hands 
at  once.  He  would  have  been  lynched,  only  Mr.  jMaster- 
son  charged  into  the  press.  With  the  Tomcat  held  fast 
in  one  fist  Mr.  Masterson  drew  his  six-shooter  with  the 
other  and  established  therewith  a  zone  of  safety.  Since 
Mr.  Wright,  who  actcS^feas  alcalde,  was  at  leisure,  Mr. 
Masterson  haled  the  ToiPiat  instantly  before  him. 

If  one  were  writing  fiction,  one  from  this  point  would 
find  open  sailing.  One  would  have  notliing  more  difficult 
to  do  than  empanel  a  jury,  convict  and  swing  off  the 
Tomcat.  In  this  relation,  however,  there  opens  no  such 
gate  of  escape.  One  must  record  a  temporary  good 
fortune  that  fell  to  the  share  of  the  Tomcat. 

The  Tomcat,  somewhat  a-droop,  was  brought  into  the 
presence  of  jMr.  Wright,  alcalde.  Before  a  word  might 
be  said,  a  fusillade  of  pistol  shots  split  the  evening  into 
splinters  at  the  far  end  of  the  street.  Two  gentlemen 
were  disagreeing;  the  dispute,  audible  to  all  In  Dodge, 
aroused  the  liveliest  curiosity.     There  befell  a  general 


'AN  INVASION  OF  DODGE  183 

stampede,  every  man  rushing  towards  the  forum  where 
debate  was  being  waged. 

So  universal  was  that  sentiment  of  curiosity  that  it 
even  swept  the  careful  ^Ir.  IMasterson  from  his  official 
feet.  He  forgot  for  the  nonce  the  Tomcat.  He  recov- 
ered himself  onl}'  to  learn  that  the  Tomcat  was  gone. 
Our  furtive  one  had  slipped  away  in  the  hurly-burly, 
and  since  Sh3^1ock — who  had  been  left  saddled  in  the 
street — was  also  absent,  the  assumption  obtained  that  the 
two  had  departed  together  and  were  already  overhauling 
the  distant  Panhandle  at  the  rate  of  fifteen  miles  the 
hour.  Disgruntled  by  what  he  looked  upon  as  his  own 
gross  neglect  Mr.  Masterson  threw  a  hurried  saddle  onto 
the  best  horse  in  Dodge  and  flashed  southward  after  the 
Tomcat. 

Mr.  Masterson  was  twenty  minutes  behind  the  hurry- 
ing Tomcat.  Laid  flat  on  the  ground  and  measured, 
those  twenty  minutes,  in  the  swallow-like  instance  of  Shy- 
lock,  would  mean  seven  miles.  J\lr.  Masterson  cursed  as 
he  remembered  this  and  considered  how  a  stern  chase  is 
never  a  short  chase.  For  all  that  Mr.  IMasterson  was 
resolved,  dead  or  alive,  to  have  his  man  again. 

"I'll  get  liim,"  said  Mr.  Masterson,  "if  I  have  to 
swing  and  rattle  with  him  from  Dodge  to  the  Rio 
Grande!" 

Mr.  Masterson  had  an  advantage  over  the  Tomcat. 


18 1  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

He  knew  tlie  country  as  a  beggar  knows  his  dish.  At 
the  end  of  the  first  three  niiles  he  struck  into  a  short  cut 
to  the  left.  His  design  was  to  outride  the  Tomcat  and 
cut  him  off  at  the  ford  of  the  Medicine  Lodge. 

Once  in  the  side  trail  Mr.  ]\Iasterson,  like  a  good  rider, 
disposed  himself  in  the  saddle  so  as  to  save  his  horse; 
the  latter — big  and  rangy — uncoupled  into  that  long, 
swinging  gallop  which  carries  the  farthest  because  it  Is 
the  easiest  of  gaits. 

"It  is  the  foxy  thing  to  head  this  party  off,"  com- 
muned Mr.  Masterson  as  he  swept  along.  "Once  I'm  in 
his  front  he  ought  to  be  sure.  A  flying  man  never  looks 
ahead." 

The  white  alkali  trail  spoke  hard  and  loud  beneath  the 
horse's  hoof-irons.  There  was  a  veil  of  cloud  across  the 
face  of  the  sky.  Then  the  west  wind  put  it  aside  and  the 
moon  and  the  big  stars  looked  down.  A  coyote  punc- 
tuated the  stillness  with  its  staccato  song.  A  jackrabbit 
jumped  up  and  went  bustling  ahead,  never  leaving  the 
paper-white  streak  of  trail  that  seemed  to  fascinate  it. 
At  last,  breath  gone  and  wholly  pumped,  it  had  just 
instinctive  sense  enough  to  wabble  a  yard  to  one  side  and 
escape  being  run  down  by  the  gallopping  horse.  A  band 
of  antelope  brushed  across  in  front  like  startled  shadows. 
Mr.  IMasterson  was  not  to  be  engaged  by  these  earmarks 
of  the  hour  and  place ;  he  must  reach  the  IMedlcine  Lodge 


AN  INVASION  OF  DODGE  185 

in  advance  of  the  Tomcat.  Lifting  his  horse  to  the  work 
Mr.  Masterson  coaxed  it  through  trail-devouring  hours. 
Then  there  came  an  interference. 

It  was  midnight  by  the  shining  word  of  the  moon 
when  a  low  roaring,  distant  and  muffled,  like  the  beat  of 
a  million  drums,  broke  on  Mr.  Masterson.  It  was  up 
the  wind  and  from  the  west. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Masterson  aloud,  and  he 
puUed  up  his  horse  to  listen.  "It's  a  good  ways  off  as 
yet,"  he  continued.  "It  must  be  a  hummer  to  send  its 
word  so  far."  Then,  patting  his  horse's  neck:  "My 
sympathies  will  be  all  with  you,  old  boy,  when  it  reaches 
us." 

Over  in  the  northwest  a  cloud  came  suddenly  up  withl 
the  swiftness  of  a  drawn  curtain.  One  by  one  it  shut 
out  like  a  screen  the  stars  and  the  moon.  Mr.  Masterson 
was  on  the  ground  in  the  puff  of  an  instant. 

"It'll  detain  him  as  much  as  it  does  me,"  thought  Mr. 
Masterson,  whose  mind  ran  always  on  his  quarry. 

Mr.  Masterson  took  a  pair  of  hopples  from  the  saddle 
and  fastened  the  fore  fetlocks  of  his  horse.  Then  he 
stripped  off  the  saddle. 

"I'll  leave  you  the  blanket,"  remarked  Mr.  Masterson, 
*'but  I'm  going  to  need  the  saddle  for  myself." 

Mr.  ]\Iasterson  crouched  upon  the  ground,  making  the 
saddle  a  roof  to  cover  his  head,  the  skirts  held  tight 


18G  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

about  his  shoulders  by  the  girths.  The  roar  grew  until 
from  a  million  drums  it  improved  to  be  a  million  flails 
on  as  many  threshing-floors.  ]\Ir.  Masterson  clawed  the 
saddleskirts  tight  as  with  a  swish  and  a  swirl  the  hail- 
storm was  upon  him.  The  round  hailstones  beat  upon 
the  saddle  like  buckshot.  They  leaped  and  bounded 
along  the  ground.  They  showed  of  a  size  and  hardness 
to  compare  with  those  toys  meant  for  cliildren's  games. 

Saved  by  the  saddle,  IMr.  JMasterson  came  through 
without  a  mark.  His  horse,  with  nothing  more  defensive 
than  a  square  of  saddle-blanket,  had  no  such  luck. 
Above  the  drumming  of  the  hailstones  Mr.  Masterson 
might  hear  that  unfortunate  animal  as,  torn  by  mixed 
emotions  of  pain,  amazement  and  indignation,  it  bucked 
about  the  scene  in  a  manner  that  would  have  done  in- 
finite grace  to  a  circus.  A  best  feature  of  the  hailstorm 
was  that  it  did  not  last  five  minutes ;  it  passed  to  the 
south  and  east,  and  its  mutterings  grew  fainter  and  more 
faint  with  every  moment. 

The  storm  over,  Mr.  Masterson  caught  up  his  horse, 
which  seemed  much  subdued  of  spirit  by  what  it  had 
gone  through.  As  gently  as  might  be — to  humour  the 
bruises — ^he  recinched  the  heavy  saddle  in  its  place. 

"Better  keep  j-^ou  moving  now,  old  boy,"  quoth  Mr. 
Masterson,  "it'll  take  the  soreness  out.  You  needn't 
shout  about  it,"  he  concluded,   as   the  sorely  battered 


AN  INVASION  OF  DODGE  187 

horse  gave  a  squeal  of  pain ;  "a  hailstone  isn't  a  bullet, 
and  it  might  have  been  worse,  you  know." 

Again  Mr.  Masterson  stretched  southward,  and  again 
the  moon  and  stars  came  out  to  light  the  way.  The  storm 
had  drawn  forth  the  acrid  earth-smells  that  sleep  in  the 
grass-roots  on  the  plains.  To  mix  with  these,  it  brought 
a  breath  from  the  pine-sown  Rockies  four  hundred  miles 
away.  These  are  the  odours  which  soak  into  a  man  and 
make  him  forever  of  the  West. 

It  was  broad  day  when  Mr.  Masterson  rode  down  to 
the  lonely  ford  of  the  INIedicine  Lodge.  He  sighed  with 
relief  as  his  hawk-eye  showed  him  how  no  one  had  passed 
since  the  storm. 

"I'm  in  luck !"  said  he. 

Mr.  Masterson  hoppled  his  horse  and  set  that  tired 
animal  to  feed  among  the  fresh  green  of  the  bottom. 
Then  he  unslung  a  pair  of  field-glasses,  which  he  wore 
for  the  good  of  his  office,  and  sent  a  backward  glance 
along  the  trail.  Rod  by  rod  he  picked  It  up  for  miles. 
There  was  no  one  in  sight ;  he  had  come  in  ample  time. 

"I  had  the  best  of  him  ten  miles  by  that  cut-ofF," 
ruminated  IVIr.  Masterson. 

Then  Mr.  Masterson  began  to  wish  he  had  something 
to  eat.  He  might  have  found  a  turkey  in  the  brush- 
clumps  along  the  Medicine  Lodge.  He  might  have 
risked  the  noise  of  a  shot,  being  so  far  ahead.    But  Mr. 


188  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Masterson  did  not  care  to  eat  a  turkey  raw  and  he  dared 
not  chance  a  smoke;  the  Tomcat  would  have  read  the 
sign  for  miles  and  crept  aside.  Mr.  Masterson  drew  his 
belt  tighter  by  a  hole  and  thought  on  other  things  than 
breakfast.  It  wouldn't  be  the  first  time  that  he  had 
missed  a  meal,  and  with  that  thought  he  consoled  himself. 
It  is  an  empty  form  of  consolation,  as  one  who  tries 
may  tell. 

"If  there's  anything  I  despise,  it's  hunger,"  said  Mr. 
Masterson.     He  was  a  desperate  fork  at  table. 

Mr.  Masterson  lay  out  of  view  and  kept  liis  glasses  on 
a  strip  five  miles  away,  where  the  trail  ribboned  over  a 
swell.  There,  in  the  end,  he  found  what  he  sought;  he 
made  out  the  Tomcat,  a  bobbing  speck  in  the  distance. 

Mr.  Masterson  put  aside  his  glasses  and  planted  him- 
self where  he  would  do  the  most  good.  Wliile  concealed 
he  still  commanded  the  approach  to  the  ford.  To  give 
his  presence  weight  Mr.  Masterson  had  liis  sixteen- 
pound  buffalo  gun. 

"As  I  remember  this  party,"  soliloquised  Mr.  Mas- 
terson, "I  don't  reckon  now  he's  got  sense  enough  to  sur- 
render when  he's  told.  And  when  I  think  of  that  little 
lady  dead  in  Dodge  I  don't  feel  like  taking  many 
chances.  I'll  hail  him,  and  if  he  hesitates,  the  risk  is 
his." 

Thirty  minutes  had  come  and  gone  since  Mr.  Master- 


AN  INVASION  OF  DODGE  189 

son,  through  Ills  glasses,  followed  the  Tomcat  down  the 
far-off  slope.  Shylock,  staunch  as  whalebone  though  fee 
was,  had  found  the  clip  a  killer.  He  was  not  covering 
ground  as  in  the  beginning.  There  they  were  at  last,  the 
weary  pony  and  the  hunted  man,  both  showing  the  wear 
and  tear  of  pace. 

Ballard  ready  on  his  hip,  the  Tomcat,  giving  a  ner- 
vous over-shoulder  look,  brought  Shylock  to  a  walk.  The 
broken  pony  came  stumbling  down  to  the  ford.  Mr. 
IMasterson,  with  his  mighty  buffalo  gun,  aroused  him- 
self for  official  business. 

"Drop  that  riiie !"  said  Mr.  Masterson. 

It  was  hke  a  bolt  from  the  blue  to  the  spent  and  shaken 
Tomcat.  He  caught  his  breath  in  a  startled  way. 
Then,  despair  standing  in  the  stead  of  courage,  he  tossed 
the  Ballard  into  lois  left  hand  and  fired,  point-blank,  at 
Mr.  Masterson's  face  where  it  showed  above  the  bank. 
The  bullet  tossed  the  dust  a  yai'd  to  the  left.  Mixed 
bloods  and  Indians  at  their  best  are  but  poor  hands  with 
a  rifle,  and  the  Tomcat  was  at  his  worst. 

With  the  crack  of  the  Ballard  came  the  bellow  of  the 
Sharp's.  The  great  bullet,  which  would  have  torn  its 
way  through  the  vitals  of  a  buflPalo-bull  at  eight  hundred 
yards,  brought  the  Tomcat  whirling  from  the  saddle  like 
a  stricken  wild  duck.  What  with  sheer  weariness  and  an 
inadvertent  yank  at  the  Spanish  bits  as  the  Tomcat  went 


190  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

overboard,  poor  Shylock  crossed  his  tired  forelegs, 
tripped,  blundered,  and  fell.  He  came  down  on  the  Tom- 
cat ;  in  the  scramble  to  get  to  his  feet  Shylock  fell  upon 
the  Tomcat  again. 

Mr.  Masterson  slipped  another  cartridge  into  the  buf- 
falo gun.  Then  he  warily  approached  the  Tomcat, 
muzzle  to  the  fore,  finger  on  the  trigger.  A  dying  man 
will  sometimes  pull  a  six-shooter  with  the  last  flicker  of 
his  faihng  strength,  and  snatch  a  vengeance  as  he  quits 
the  earth. 

Mr.  Masterson  seized  the  Tomcat  by  the  shoulders  and 
dragged  liim  from  under  Shylock — still  heaving  and 
plunging  to  regain  his  feet.  There  was  no  call  for 
a  second  look ;  the  experienced  Mr.  IMasterson  could 
tell  by  the  ash-colour  struggling  through  the  brown 
that  the  death-draw  was  on  the  Tomcat  at  the  very 
moment. 

The  Tomcat,  Iiiccoughing  and  bleeding,  lay  on  the 
short  stiff  grass  and  rolled  a  hateful  eye  on  his  execu- 
tioner. Mr.  Masterson,  thinking  on  the  girl  who  died 
in  Dodge,  gave  back  a  look  as  hateful.  And  tliis,  in  the 
midst  of  the  lonesome  plains,  is  what  these  two  spoke  to 
one  another — these,  the  slayer  and  the  slain,  to  show 
how  bald  is  truth ! 

*'You  blank-blanked-blankety-blank !  you  ought  to 
have  made  a  better  shot  than  that !"  said  the  Tomcat. 


AN  INVASION  OF  DODGE  191 

"Well,  you  blank-blanked  murderer,  I  did  the  best  I 
could,"  said  Mr.  Masterson. 

Mr.  Masterson,  as  he  walked  liis  horse  over  the  hill 
upon  which  he  had  first  beheld  the  coming  of  the  Tom- 
cat, halted  and  looked  back.  Shylock  of  the  empty 
saddle  nosed  up  to  Mr.  Masterson's  horse  in  a  friendly 
way.  Five  miles  to  the  south,  on  the  banks  of  the  Medi- 
cine Lodge,  a  raven  wheeled  and  stooped.  Away  to  the 
west  a  coyote  yelped ;  another  yelped  an  answer,  and  then 
another.  Mr.  Masterson  shrugged  his  wide  shoulders. 
The  coyote  by  daylight  makes  gruesome  melody. 

"The  ground  was  too  hard  to  dig  a  grave,"  said  Mr. 
Masterson,  as  he  turned  his  horse's  head  again  towards 
Dodge,  "even  if  I'd  had  the  tools.  Besides,  I  wasn't 
elected  undertaker,  but  sheriff." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE  WOLF. 

I  HE  Lone  Wolf  had  lost  his  "medicine,"  and  that 
was  a  most  serious  disaster.  To  lose  one's 
"medicine"  among  the  Indians  is  equivalent  to 
losing  one's  money  among  the  Whites,  and  means  just  as 
bad  a  mess  in  one's  social  and  business  affairs.  One's 
smell-feast  friends  of  the  day  before  go  by  one  with 
averted  or  unseeing  eye,  while  everytliing  and  everybody 
give  evidence  that  one  is  beneath  the  notice  of  a  self- 
respecting  world. 

Thus  it  was  with  the  Lone  Wolf  when  now  his  "medi- 
cine" had  left  him.  Bear  Shield,  his  chief,  looked  over 
him  or  through  him  without  sign  or  word  that  might  be 
construed  into  an  admission  of  his  existence.  Fellow 
Cheyennes  who  had  sat  with  him  in  the  council  or  rode 
knee  to  knee  with  him  in  the  charge  no  longer  knew  him 
by  mark  of  face  or  sound  of  name.  His  squaws  moped 
over  the  camp-fire  with  bowed  heads ;   his   pappooses 

192 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF       193 

whimpered  with  the  shame  of  what  they  felt  but  did  not 
understand;  his  dogs,  cowed  and  dispirited,  crept  about 
with  craven  tails  clewed  close  between  their  legs ;  even 
his  ponies  made  a  disgraced  band  by  themselves,  crop- 
ping dejected  grass  apart,  as  though  unfit  to  mingle 
with  the  reputable  mustangs  of  mankind. 

This  situation  was  all  the  more  a  jolt  to  the  sensibili- 
ties of  the  Lone  Wolf,  since  he  had  been  a  personage  of 
eminence  and  place.  His  voice  had  been  high  in  tribal 
powwow,  his  strong  hand  resistless  in  war.  He  was 
rich  in  robes  and  ponies,  in  pappooses  and  dogs  and 
wives.  The  records  of  the  "medicine"  lodge  showed  him 
entitled  to  sing  of  the  conquest  of  four  scalps — one 
Pawnee,  two  Sioux,  and  one  the  former  headwear  of  a 
drunken  teamster  of  Sun  City — which  four  topknots 
were  drying  on  his  tepee  pole.  By  these  one  may  know 
how  to  measure  the  heights  from  which  the  melancholy 
Lone  Wolf  had  been  hurled. 

The  Lone  Wolf  had  lost  his  "medicine"  without  fault, 
that  is  fault  from  the  standpoint  of  a  paleface.  He 
came  down  to  the  ford  at  the  Beaver,  when  storms  to  the 
west  had  rendered  it  boiling  and  bank  full.  By  reason 
of  the  boil  and  swirl,  and  the  shifting  quicksands  under 
hoof,  his  pony  lost  its  foothold  and  went  down.  In  the 
splash  and  water-scramble  that  ensued,  the  Lone  Wolf 
and  his  half-choked  pony  reached  the  shore;  but  his 


194.  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

"medicine,"  torn  from  his  neck  in  the  struggle,  was 
swept  away.  There  was  no  argument  for  a  search.  In 
the  turbid  toss  of  that  ten-mile  current  the  "medicine" 
was  as  hopelessly  lost  as  though  it  had  exhaled. 

And  yet,  while  the  Lone  Wolf  could  relate  this  blame- 
less story  of  liis  vanished  "medicine,"  it  availed  liim 
naught.  There  is  no  such  word  as  accident  where  one's 
"medicine"  is  concerned.  One's  separation  from  it,  no 
matter  by  what  means  brought  about,  is  neither  to  be 
honourably  accounted  for  nor  condoned.  One  has  lost 
one's  "medicine";  and  one  is  thereby  and  therefore  de- 
stroyed. It  would  be  a  stain,  as  even  the  half -opened 
paleface  eye  may  see,  were  it  taken  from  one  by  the  con- 
quering arm  of  a  foe.  It  is  as  deep  a  stain  to  part  with 
it,  as  the  Lone  Wolf  parted  with  his.  Such  manner  of  loss 
makes  plain  that,  because  of  crimes  or  cowardices  un- 
known, the  justice-loving  ghosts  have  interfered  to  strip 
a  villain  of  this  basic  requisite  of  a  warrior  and  an 
honest  man.  Only  in  this  way  can  the  ghosts  of  good 
Cheyennes  gone  before,  having  the  honour  of  their  tribe 
in  dearest  mind,  furnish  word  to  their  children  of  liim  in 
their  midst,  so  flagrantly  vile  that  a  least  association 
with  him  provides  disgrace,  while  bordering  narrowly 
on  actual  sin  itself. 

In  a  far  day  a  leper  cloaked  his  head  and  hung  a 
tinkling  bell  at  his  girdle,  so  that  hale  men  might  have 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF       195 

warning  of  his  evil  case  and  hold  aloof.  For  kindred 
reasons  the  Lone  Wolf,  when  now  his  "medicine"  was 
lost,  killed  his  pony,  broke  his  pipe-stem,  and  blackened 
his  face.  In  this  sorrowful  guise  he  went  afoot  the  long 
journey  to  his  home  village  on  the  Cimarron,  and  all 
who  met  him  by  the  way  knew  him  at  sight  and  turned 
their  backs  upon  him,  for  that  tiling  below  a  caste,  a  man 
who  has  lost  his  "medicine." 

The  Lone  Wolf's  "medicine"  had  been  an  exceeding 
strong  "medicine,"  and  this  served  tO'  give  his  loss  an 
emphasis.  He  had  worn  it  through  a  dozen  battles,  and 
it  so  cunningly  protected  liim  that,  while  others  fell  about 
him  knocked  over  like  ninepins,  nothing  save  and  except 
one  bullet  from  a  Gatling  was  able  to  leave  its  mark  upon 
him.  The  Gatling  had  nicked  him;  and  the  furrow  it 
turned  was  visible  on  the  cheek  of  Lone  Wolf.  This  un- 
toward scratch  was  solvable  only  upon  a  theory  that  the 
"medicine"  of  what  paleface  fired  the  shot  must  likewise 
have  possessed  uncommon  potentialities. 

When  boyhood  ceased  for  the  Lone  Wolf  and  he  trem- 
bled on  the  threshold  of  existence  as  a  full-blown  buck, 
in  deference  to  Cheyenne  custom  he  had  wandered  abroad 
and  alone  upon  the  blizzard-whipped  plains,  and  frozen 
and  starved  and  prayed  and  mourned  for  seven  nights 
and  days.  In  the  end,  cold  and  hunger  and  self-hypnot- 
ism did  their  work,  and  the  Lone  Wolf  began  to  see 


196  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

shapes  and  hear  voices.  These  told  him  how  to  com- 
pound his  "medicine,"  so  that  thereafter  he  should 
be  ^v^se  as  the  owl  in  peace,  fierce  as  the  eagle  in 
strife. 

The  "medicine"  bag  was  to  be  sewed  from  the  skin  of 
an  otter,  dressed  with  claws  and  tail  and  head  and  teeth 
as  though  filled  with  grinning  life.  Inside  the  otter-pelt 
"medicine"  bag  were  to  be  hidden  charmed  tobacco,  slips 
of  sacred  cedar,  a  handful  of  periwinkle  shells,  as  well 
as  twenty  other  occult  odds  and  ends,  the  recondite  whole, 
together  with  the  otter-skin  pouch,  to  be  and  remain  his 
*'medicine"  forevermore. 

The  Lone  Wolf  followed,  religiously,  the  ghostly  di- 
rections. He  caught  and  skinned  and  tanned  and  sewed 
his  otter,  and  then  invested  the  precious  bag  with  those 
chronicled  weird  fragments  of  matter.  To  these  latter, 
as  all  must  admit,  the  lip  of  bat,  and  toe  of  toad,  and 
eye  of  newt — so  valuable  in  witchcraft — or  the  negro 
necromancer's  dried  snake's  head,  and  left  hind  foot  of  a 
graveyard  rabbit  killed  in  the  dark  of  the  moon,  are  as 
children's  toys ;  and  so  thought  the  Lone  Wolf.  When 
complete,  he  hung  his  "medicine"  about  his  neck,  and 
felt  liimself  a  proud,  big  warrior  and  a  man.  He  had 
never  been  parted  from  it,  were  it  day  or  night,  or  war 
or  peace.  He  had  even  worn  it  during  liis  school  days 
at  Carlisle,  saving  it  from  curious  professors,  who  might 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF       197 

have  decried  it  as  some  heathen  fetish,  by  wearing  it  un- 
der his  cahco  shirt.  Now  it  was  gone,  eaten  up  by  the 
hungry  Beaver,  and  the  name  of  the  Lone  Wolf  had  been 
dropped  from  all  the  aboriginal  roll  calls  of  good  repute. 
Not  alone  among  the  Cheyennes,  but  in  the  estimation  of 
every  Indian  that  yelped  between  the  Yellowstone  and 
the  Rio  Grande,  the  unlucky  Lone  Wolf,  with  a  lost 
"medicine"  bag  to  his  discredit,  was  utterly  abandoned 
and  undone. 

And  the  worst  feature  of  the  case  was  that  the  Lone 
Wolf  could  not  make  a  new  "medicine."  Since  the  Great 
Spirit  invented  the  institution  of  "medicine"  and  placed 
it  upon  earth,  all  men  have  known  that  one  Taay  create 
his  "medicine"  but  once.  Any  second  attempt  serves  only 
to  introduce  one  to  a  covey  of  malevolent  spirits,  whose 
power  will  be  exercised  to  wet  one's  bowstring,  blunt  one's 
arrow,  lame  one's  pon}^,  and  break  one's  lance.  No,  the 
Lone  Wolf  could  not  make  another  "medicine." 

Was  there  no  hope  for  the  Lone  Wolf? 

About  an  even  century  before  the  Lone  Wolf  slumped 
into  that  quicksand  crossing  of  the  Beaver,  and  was 
robbed  by  the  waters  of  his  otter-skin  "medicine,"  Mr. 
Goldsmith  wrote  a  three  act  oratorio,  called  it  "The  Cap- 
tivity'" and  sold  it  to  Dodslcy  for  ten  guineas.  Among 
other  tuneful  commodities  in  said  oratorio  contained,  Mr. 
Goldsmith  penned  the  following: 


198  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

The  wretch  condemned  with  life  to  part, 

Still,  still  on  hope  relies ; 
And  every  pang  that  rends  the  heart 

Bids  expectation  rise. 

Hope,  like  the  gleaming  taper's  light, 

Adorns  and  cheers  our  way  ; 
And  still  as  darker  grows  the  night, 

Emits  a  brighter  ray. 

Since  he  knew  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  it  is  fair 
to  assume  that  when  Mr.  Goldsmith  wrote  the  above  he 
was  thinking  as  deeply  on  the  Lone  ^Volf  as  on  you. 
Certainly  the  habit  of  hope  therein  set  forth  is  as 
prevalently  sweeping  among  savages  as  among  civi- 
lised folk.  The  Indian  docs  not  hope  for  the  same 
things,  but  to  what  extent  and  in  what  direction  his  an- 
ticipations stray  he  hopes  as  industriously  as  ever  hoped 
any  white  man  of  you  all.  And  so  it  was  with  the  un- 
happy Lone  Wolf.  In  this,  liis  darkest  hour,  there  re- 
mained the  glimmer  of  a  hope. 

When  the  Great  Spirit  fixed  his  commands  against 
making  a  second  "medicine,"  a  fiat  necessary  lest  a 
"medicine"  easily  replaced  degenerate  to  be  a  trivial 
gewgaw  creature  of  small  moment,  he  left  open,  should 
one  lose  one's  "medicine,"  a  single  gateway  of  relief. 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF       199 

One  might  conquer,  in  such  pinch,  an  enemy,  strip  him 
of  his  personal  "medicine,"  and  thus  redeem  one's  self. 
The  "medicine"  of  that  dead  foe  would  take  the  place  of 
the  lost  "medicine,"  and  by  its  virtues  rehabilitate  the 
victor  and  restore  him  unto  wliat  tribal  place  was  his  be- 
fore his  own  original  "medicine"  had  disappeared. 

In  this  black  hour  of  his  fortunes,  the  Lone  Wolf  up- 
held his  heart  with  this.  He  might  go  north,  and  knock 
over  some  casual  Pawnee  or  inadvertent  Sioux.  Hun- 
dreds of  these  at  this  season  would  be  met  with  among 
the  buffaloes.  True,  it  would  be  a  long,  hard  trail ;  but 
not  so  long  nor  so  hard  as  the  life-trail  of  the  Lone  Wolf 
when  now  he  was  without  caste  or  tribal  countenance. 

Stripping  himself  of  feathers  and  hawk-bells  and 
bearclaw  necklace  and  everj"^  form  of  ornament,  wrapped 
in  his  raggedest  blanket,  with  a  daub  of  mud  in  liis  hair 
as  one  who  mounis,  without  word  or  sign  to  any  con- 
cerning liis  purpose,  the  Lone  Wolf  turned  his  back  on 
the  Cimarron  and  wended  northward.  His  face  paints 
were  black,  for  his  heart  was  sad.  The  only  matters 
about  him  that  did  not  tell  of  woe  and  bankruptcy,  and 
warn  one  of  an  Indian  without  fortune  or  future,  were 
his  pony  and  his  arms.  These  showed  of  the  best,  and 
this  weapon-care  was  not  without  a  reason.  More  than 
ever  would  the  Lone  Wolf  require  a  pony  tireless  as 
the  storm  and  as  swift,  and  lance  and  bow  and  knife  with- 


SOO  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

out  flaw  or  fault ;  for  now  when  he  had  lost  his  "medi- 
cine." he  was  singularly  undefended  and  weak.  No  one 
knew  better  these  latter  helpless  truths  tlian  did  the  Lone 
Wolf.  It  was  by  no  means  sure  that  a  cliild  might  not 
overcome  him — he  who,  but  a  fortnight  before  with 
liis  otter-skin  "medicine,"  had  been  a  thunderbolt 
of  war.  Wherefore,  with  his  heart  little,  liis  cour- 
age water,  his  bow  an  arc  of  weakness,  his  arrows  no 
better  than  windle-straws,  and  his  lance  as  forceless  as 
a  cornstalk — for  losing  one's  "medicine"  means  all  these 
grevious  conditions  of  undefence  and  Inability  to  smite — 
it  behooved  the  Lone  Wolf  to  provide  as  much  as  he 
might,  with  prudence  and  farsighted  care.  In  favour  of  a 
possible  success. 

The  Lone  Wolf  would  have  no  help  from  the  good 
ghosts,  for  these  had  left  him  with  the  lost  "medicine." 
What  ghosts  might  still  be  riding  in  his  disgraceful 
company,  were  bad  ghosts.  So  far  as  they  did  any- 
thing they  would  do  harm,  not  good,  and  the  best  he 
might  look  for  at  their  hands  was  a  sort  of  ghostly  non- 
interference. 

There  was  a  least  slant  ray  to  encourage  the  latter 
hope.  If  the  Lone  Wolf  had  the  luck  to  cross  up  with 
a  Pawnee  or  a  Sioux  as  contemptible  as  himself,  the 
ghosts  would  not  choose  between  them.  In  such  miser- 
able  coil   of  coyote-snap-coyote,   the  disgusted   ghosts 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF       201 

would  stand  afar  off.  They  would  be  content  with  the 
outcome,  whatever  it  was,  and  refuse  to  contaminate  their 
vapourish  hands  by  mixing  in  the  business. 

That  was  the  one  favouring  chance  that  lay  before  the 
Lone  Wolf.  To  have  full  advantage  of  it,  he  wore  his 
best  weapons  and  rode  his  best  war  pony.  If  he  hap- 
pened upon  a  Pawnee  or  Sioux,  disreputable  in  the  eyes 
of  gods  and  men,  he  might  yet  be  saved  from  out  those 
fires  of  disgrace  that  were  consuming  him.  He  would 
kill  that  Pawnee  or  Sioux,  and  wash  himself  free  of  stain 
with  his  victim's  "medicine." 

On  the  other  and  more  likely  hand — since  good  is  more 
rife  than  evil — were  he  to  encounter  an  Indian,  tribally 
eminent  and  high,  one  wlio  stood  well  with  his  people  and 
of  whose  company  therefore  the  most  exactingly  exclu- 
sive ghost  need  not  feel  ashamed,  the  Lone  Wolf  knew 
the  upcome.  His  fate  was  written ;  he  was  no  better 
than  a  dead  Cheyenne.  To  these  poor  conditions  the 
Lone  Wolf  tacitly  agreed.  And  wherefore  no.''  What 
death  was  not  preferable  to  a  life  of  endless  ignominy — 
the  life  of  one  who  has  lost  his  "medicine?"  Such  indeed 
were  the  thoughts  to  skulk  in  the  mind  of  the  Lone  Wolf 
like  quails  in  com,  as  he  rode  forward  on  his  quest. 

The  Lone  Wolf  could  not  expect  to  find  that  required 
Pawnee  or  needed  Sioux  short  of  the  Platte  or  perhaps 
the  Yellowstone.     He  resolved  to  go  thither  by-  way  of 


202  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Dodge.  The  Lone  Wolf  was  not  wanting  in  a  kind  of 
ijapioncy.  Now  tliat  his  own  weapons  were  undeniably 
weak — he  could  only  know  how  weak  when  he  had  tried 
them,  and  the  news  might  come  too  late — he  decided  to 
purchase  a  rifle  of  the  palefaces.  Such  a  weapon  would 
not  have  been  sapped  of  its  powers  by  any  former  pos- 
session of  his  own,  and  he  might  possibly  corral  that 
"medicine"  he  sought  before  it  had  been  long  enough  in 
his  hands  to  have  degenerated.  With  this  wisdom  in 
mind,  the  Lone  Wolf  drove  before  him  two  pack  ponies, 
laden  to  the  ears  of  robes  and  furs.  This  sumpter  stuff 
would  bu}^  that  rifle,  with  its  accompanying  belts  and 
cartridges. 

The  Lone  Wolf  knew  Mr.  Masterson,  and  liked  him. 
They  had  both  fought  at  the  'Dobe  Walls  and  gained  a 
deal  of  respect  for  one  another.  Also  they  had  met 
since  at  sundry  agencies ;  and  in  good  truth  it  was  the 
Lone  Wolf  who  told  Mr.  Masterson  how  many  of  those 
charging  savages  went  under  in  that  hot  fortnight  of 
fight. 

"How  many  of  you  did  we  blink  out.^"  asked  Mr.  Mas- 
terson, who  had  his  statistical  side. 

The  Lone  Wolf's  mathematics  were  wholly  aboriginal, 
for  all  he  had  been  to  Carlisle.  He  opened  and  closed  his 
ten  fingers  eight  times — eighty.  Then  he  held  up  one 
linser. 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE  WOLF      203 

''Buffalo  soldier,"  said  the  Lone  Wolf. 

The  one  finger  stood  for  that  traitorous  black  bugler, 
who  fought  for  the  side  of  the  Indians  and  sounded  rally 
and  charge  en  his  stolen  bugle,  the  property  of  the  state. 
The  Indians  style  such  "buffalo  soldiers"  because  of 
their  woolly  heads  like  unto  the  curled  frontlet  of  a 
buffalo  bull. 

Having  decided  upon  that  rifle  and  its  acquirement, 
the  Lone  Wolf  would  go  seeking  his  new  "medicine"  by 
way  of  Dodge.  He  would  inquire  out  j\Ir.  JNIasterson 
and  crave  liis  aid  in  the  rifle's  selection.  This  was  highly 
important.  Some  bad  paleface  might  otherwise  sell  him 
a  gun  that  was  bewitched.  Mr.  Masterson  would  pro- 
tect him  from  that  fearful  risk.  Mr.  IVIasterson  was  an 
honest  man.  No  one  could  fight  as  Mr.  Masterson  had 
fought,  unless  his  heart  were  very  pure  and  strong. 

The  only  drawback  to  a  visit  to  Dodge  lurked  in  this 
that  it  would  compel  the  Lone  Wolf  to  speak  English. 
Surely,  he  had  learned  English  at  Carlisle ;  but  knowing, 
as  know  all  Indians,  that  to  speak  the  white  man's  lan- 
guage brings  misfortune  and  sickness  and  death,  he 
had  had  the  wit  to  discontinue  the  practice.  Likewise  and 
at  the  same  time  he  laid  aside  his  paleface  clothes  as  be- 
ing extremely  "bad  medicine."  Of  course,  there  was  also 
a  commonsense  side  to  the  latter  move,  since  anyone  who 
sticks  to  coat  and  trousers  when,  without  sliaking  liis 


204  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

position,  he  may  be  freely  comfortable  in  breech-clout 
and  blanket,  is  an  unimaginable  ass.  Yes ;  in  Dodge  the 
Lone  Wolf  would  be  driven  to  speak  English.  However, 
it  would  not  last  for  long,  and  in  the  desolate  pitch  of 
his  fortune,  what  mattered  it  what  he  spoke?  It  would 
mean  companionship,  and  therefore  a  kind  of  comfort; 
for  your  Indian  is  as  gregarious  as  a  prairie  dog,  and 
the  Lone  Wolf — who  had  not  spoken  to  buck  or  squaw 
or  pappoose  since  he  lost  his  "medicine" — was  beginning 
to  feel  as  solitary  and  as  lonesome  as  a  good  man  in 
Chicago. 

Six  months  before  the  Lone  Wolf  lost  his  "medicine" 
in  the  Beaver,  there  had  come  to  the  Dodge  Opera  House 
that  dramatic  organization  known  as  the  Red  Stocking 
Blondes.  The  advent  of  this  talented  combination  was 
iiaiicd  A\  ith  local  delight,  for  it  had  ever  been  a  favourite 
in  Dodge. 

The  first  violin  of  the  Red  Stocking  Blondes,  on  this 
particular  occasion,  was  not  the  individual  whom  Mr. 
Wagner  roped  on  a  former  memorable  evening.  This 
first  violin  was  thoroughly  the  artist.  What  he  couldn't 
coax  from  a  fiddle  in  the  way  of  melody  would  have  to 
be  developed  by  an  Ole  Bull. 

Once,  Cimarron  Bill,  after  listening  to  several  of 
the  first  violin's  most  unstudied  performances,  had 
asked : 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF       205 

*'Can  you  play  the  Bootiful  BIoo  Danyoob?  I  hears 
it  'leven  years  ago  in  St.  Looey,  an'  have  been  honin' 
for  it  ever  since." 

The  artist,  thus  appealed  to,  played  that  swelling  piece 
of  waltz  music,  and  when  he  finished,  the  emotional 
Cimarron,  eyes  a-swim  with  tears  of  ecstasy,  grasped  his 
hand. 

"Pard !"  exclaimed  the  worthy  Cimarron,  in  a  gush  of 
hyperbole,  "you  could  play  a  fiddle  with  your  feet!" 
However,  this  is  in  advance  of  the  story. 

The  first  violin  of  the  Red  Stocking  Blondes  was  named 
Algernon  Pepin,  albeit  this  may  have  been  a  nom  de 
theatre.  Mr.  Pepin  was  small,  lean,  shy,  silent,  timid, 
with  a  long,  sad,  defeated  face.  His  back  was  humped, 
as  were  the  backs  of  Aesop,  Richard  of  Gloster,  the  poet 
Pope,  and  many  another  gentleman  of  genius.  He  had 
rakehandle  arms,  and  skinny  fingers  like  the  claws  of 
a  great  bird. 

Of  all  who  marched  with  the  banners  of  the  Red  Stock- 
ing Blondes,  Mr.  Pepin,  when  they  came  into  Dodge,  was 
the  only  one  troubled  of  spirit.  The  rest  showed  as 
gay  as  larks ;  for  the  troupe  was  on  the  road  to  Broad- 
way, and  six  weeks  more  would  find  its  members  in  Rec- 
tor's, Shanley's,  Brown's  and  Liichow's,  relating  their 
adventures  to  guileless  ones  who  had  never  crossed  the 
Hudson.     It  was  that  thought  of  Broadway  to  pale  the 


206  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

sallow,  anxious  cheek  of  Mr.  Pepin.     And  the  reason  of 
the  terror  which  tugged  at  his  soul  was  this : 

Two  years  rearward  Mr.  Pepin,  by  several  fortunate 
strokes  and  the  aid  of  a  legacy,  had  made  himself  master 
of  an  opera  company.  It  was  one  of  those  terrible  opera 
companies  that  sing  Wagner  and  are  both  fashionable 
and  awful  to  hear. 

The  contralto  of  the  opera  company  was  a  large, 
powerful  woman  whose  name  ended  in  "ski."  Her  up- 
per lip  was  distinctly  mustached,  and  her  voice  sounded 
like  a  man  in  a  cistern.  There  are,  in  divers  parts  of 
Europe,  just  such  beings  as  this  contralto  who,  yoked 
with  cattle,  assist  in  agriculture  by  pulling  plows.  This 
happy  condition,  however,  is  confined  to  Europe;  here 
they  sing  in  Wagner. 

Any  lady  of  the  theaters  will  tell  you  there  is  ad- 
vantage in  being  the  wife  of  the  owner  of  the  show. 
It  means  spotlights,  music,  three-sheets,  puffs;  in  short 
the  center  of  the  stage.  The  contralto  in  question  was 
wholly  aware  of  these  advantages.  Acting  on  that  knowl- 
edge, this  fonnidable  woman  arose  one  New  York  morn- 
ing, conveyed  Mr.  Pepin  to  the  Little  Church  Around 
the  Comer,  almost  with  force  and  arms,  and  married  him 
to  her  for  better  or  for  worse.  It  turned  out  to  be  the 
latter  alternative  in  the  dismal  case  of  Mr.  Pepin. 
J     There  came  a  time  when  the  opera  company  fell  upon 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF       20T 

poor  days.  Then  the  days  went  from  poor  to  bad  and 
bad  to  worse.  Lastly,  came  the  crash.  At  the  close 
of  a  losing  week  the  treasurer  fled  with  the  receipts,  and 
a  host  of  creditors,  the  sheriff  at  their  hungry  head, 
tore  Mr.  Pepin  into  insolvent  bits.  When  the  dust  of 
that  last  fierce  struggle  had  subsided,  i\Ir.  Pepin  crawled 
from  the  wreck  with  two  fiddles  and  the  necessity  of  be- 
ginning life  anew. 

Mr.  Pepin,  at  that  time,  would  have  said  that  he  had 
nothing  further  to  fear  from  fate.  Ill-fortune,  he 
would  have  argued,  had  shot  its  bolt  and  done  its  worst. 
Most  folk,  after  an  unbiased  review,  would  have  coin- 
cided with  ]\Ir.  Pepin.  Also,  most  folk,  like  Mr.  Pepin, 
would  be  wrong,  since  they  would  have  overlooked  that 
fell  contralto. 

When  the  opera  company  went  to  grief,  and  with  it 
her  position,  the  contralto  scrupled  not  to  revile  Mr. 
Pepin.  She  even  taunted  him  with  his  misshapen  back. 
Then  she  beat  him.  When  he  ran  from  her  and  con- 
cealed himself,  she  charged  him  with  abandonment  and 
cruelty,  and  the  police  dragged  Mr.  Pepin  from  his  place 
of  hiding. 

One  day  by  some  masterly  sleight,  j\Ir.  Pepin  escaped, 
and  went  fiddling  forth  into  the  land.  He  was  not  after 
position;  salary  was  no  object;  the  one  purpose  of  Mr. 
Pepin  was  to  keep  out  of  New  York  and  thereby  out  of 


208  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

the  clutches  of  his  contralto,  for  whom — since  she  never 
left,  tliat  metropolis — New  York  had  become  the  dread 
synonj^m.  You  who  read  may  now  consider  how  far 
Mr.  Pepin  was  justified  of  his  shudders  at  the  mention 
of  Broadway. 

Two  days  prior  to  the  coming  of  those  Red  Stock- 
ing Blondes,  Mr.  Peacock's  Dance  Hall  had  suffered  an 
orchestral  setback.  In  the  midst  of  the  evening's  gayety 
five  couples  presented  themselves  in  the  formation  of 
one  quadrille — a  manifest  solecism! 

Mr.  Peacock,  alive  to  the  dangerous  impropriety  de- 
scribed, warned  the  musicians,  by  a  repressive  gesture  of 
his  hand,  not  to  strike  up.  Had  Mr.  Peacock's  signals 
been  heeded  there  would  haA^e  been  no  trouble  in  the 
Dance  Hall,  for  the  gentlemen  concerned  would  have 
either  adjusted  their  differences  by  tossing  a  copper 
or  gone  outside  to  shoot. 

But  the  signals  of  INIr.  Peacock  were  not  obeyed.  The 
violinist  of  the  Dance  Hall  was  one  of  your  ill-condi- 
tioned natures  that  dislike  a  quiet  life.  Observing  those 
five  couple  where  only  four  should  be,  and  careless  of  the 
pantomime  of  Mr.  Peacock,  with  a  brief  exultant  remark 
to  the  pianist  that  he  thought  he  saw  in  the  snarl  the 
rudiments  of  trouble,  the  violinist  went  ranting  off  into 
the  "Arkansas  Traveler"  and  dragged  the  pianist 
along. 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF      209 

Somewhere  it  has  been  put  forth — and  the  assertion 
has  had  solemn  acceptance  to  this  day — that  the  man 
was  a  public  benefactor  who  made  two  blades  of  grass 
grow  where  but  one  had  grown  before.  However  much 
this  may  be  of  value  as  a  statement  concerning  gi'ass,  it 
fails  when  one  attempts  its  application  to  quadrilles. 
Instead  of  benefiting  the  public,  he  who  sought  to  make 
two  couples  dance  where  but  one  had  danced  before, 
would  simply  be  laying  the  foundations  of  civil  war. 
And  this  in  particular  were  the  scene  of  his  operations 
Mr.  Peacock's  Dance  Hall  in  the  hour  borne  in  mind. 

And  so  the  sequel  showed.  That  malignant  violinist, 
when  he  plowed  off  into  the  "Arkansas  Traveler" — to 
which  music,  be  it  known,  more  men  have  perished  than 
to  the  "British  Grenadier" — he  gave  the  fatal  call : 

"First  four  f oi'ward  and  back !" 

The  "First  Four"  on  this  overloaded  occasion,  carry- 
ing as  it  did  that  extra  couple  and  being  not  four  but 
six,  fell  at  once  into  a  general  knot.  Upon  the  knot 
growing  worse  instead  of  better,  those  therein  involved 
attempted  to  untie  it  with  their  guns. 

It  was  over  in  a  moment,  with  a  gratifying  count  of 
one  killed  and  none  wounded.  The  word  "gratifying" 
is  used,  because  the  one  killed  was  that  troublemonger- 
ing  violinist  who,  with  his  "Arkansas  Traveler,"  had 
shoved  the  row  from  shore.     Justice  is  blind,  and  now 


210  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

and  then  an  accident  may  bo  counted  upon  to  do  an 
equity. 

While  every  right-thinking  soul  in  Dodge  felt  glad 
that  the  malignant  violinist  was  killed,  his  blotting  out 
none  the  less  became  a  common  injury.  There  was  no 
one  to  put  in  his  place ;  which,  it  may  be  said  in  passing, 
furnished  the  precise  reason  why  he  had  not  been  shot 
before. 

Now  a  violinist  was  a  highly  important  personage  in 
Dodge.  Your  cowboj^,  after  the  sixth  drink,  is  a  being 
of  mood  and  romance — a  dream}?^  sentimentalist!  He 
requires  the  violin,  as  the  Jewish  king  required  the  liarp, 
and  nothJng  else  will  soothe  him.  Wherefore,  while  Mr. 
Peacock's  pianist — he  had  lived  through  that  over- 
stocked quadrille  untouched — might  hammer  out  a  dance 
tune,  the  atmosphere  was  sorely  lacking  in  those  calma- 
tive elements  which  only  a  violin  could  give.  It  offered 
a  state  of  affairs  especially  hectic  and  explosive,  one 
which  the  cooler  spirits  must  watch  in  order  to  preserve 
a  peace. 

The  dead  violinist  was  buried  on  the  day  when  the 
Red  Stocking  Blondes  came  to  town,  and  it  is  safe  to 
assume  that  those  funeral  doings  taught  Mr.  Pepin,  by 
the  gossip  they  provoked,  of  the  refuge  for  himself  and 
fortunes  which  those  obsequies  inferred.  Whether  that 
be  so  or  no,  at  the  end  of  the  week  when  the  Red 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF       211 

Stocking  Blondes  closed  their  brilliant  engagement 
and  on  the  breath  of  Dodge's  plaudits  were  wafted 
to  the  next  stand,  Mr.  Pepin  remained  behind- 
He  lapsed  into  that  bullet-constructed  vacancy  in 
Mr.  Peacock's  Dance  Hall,  while  his  light  com- 
panions of  the  theater  set  their  faces  eastward,  sing- 
ing: 

"The  sun  is  always  shining  on  Broadway." 

One  can  imagine  a  war  that  would  have  obhterated, 
but  not  one  that  would  have  conquered  Dodge.  ]Mere 
force  could  never  have  brought  it  to  its  knees ;  and  yet 
within  a  week  it  had  unconditionally  surrendered  to  the 
melodious  genius  of  Mr.  Pepin.  He  enraptured  Dodge. 
It  took  him  to  its  heart;  it  would  have  defended  him  to 
the  latest  gasp.  Mr.  Pepin  repayed  this  local  worship. 
Never  had  he  drawn  sweeter  strains  from  his  instrument ; 
for  never,  of  late  at  least,  had  his  heart  been  more  pro- 
tected and  at  perfect  ease. 

Also,  the  musical  taste  of  Dodge  was  elevated  by  Mr. 
Pepin.  In  this  taste  improvement,  Mr.  Pepin  showed 
himself  equipped  of  tact,  and  a  wary  wit.  He  played 
selections  from  "Trovatore"  and  "Martha,"  and  ren- 
dered Mendelssohn's  "Spring  Song,"  and  "Old  Madrid." 
But  he  renamed  them — in  favour  of  local  colour,  prob- 


212  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

ablj — "Midnight  Along  the  Arkansas,"  "Two  Black 
Bears,"  "The  Fieste  at  Santa  Fe,"  and  "Daybreak  On 
the  Plains."  Tliis  was  a  sagacious  nomenclature;  it 
plowed  'round  suspicion,  and  avoided  prejudices  that 
otherwise  might  have  been  invoked. 

When  the  Red  Stocking  Blondes  departed  for  the 
East,  Mr.  Pepin  severally  swore  every  member  of  that 
organisation  to  say  nothing  of  his  whereabouts  to  the 
contralto,  and  it  is  creditable  to  the  dramatic  profession 
that  every  member  kept  the  oath.  Mr.  Pepin,  released 
from  bondage  and  doubly  safe  with  distance  and  an  ad- 
dress that  was  now  suppressed,  might  have  scraped  an 
unscared  fiddle  to  the  ending  of  his  days,  had  it  not  been 
for  his  own  loquacity — a  loquacity  that  was  brought 
about  in  this  wise. 

Mr.  Pepin  had  dwelt  in  Dodge,  and  been  the  soul  of 
those  revels  that  found  nightly  place  in  Mr.  Peacock's 
Dance  Hall,  for  divers  months,  when  the  town  dedicated 
its  first  church.  The  event  was  epoch-making,  and 
Dodge,  impressed  as  to  what  onward  and  upward  strides 
were  suggested  of  that  day,  gave  way  to  vast  rejoicing. 
A  deal  of  Old  Jordan  was  destroyed,  and  Mr.  Pepin, 
contrary  to  a  usual  habit,  was  among  those  overcome. 
Most  of  Mr.  Pepin's  liquor  was  consumed  in  the  Alham- 
bra ;  for  he  and  Mr.  Kelly — who  owned  a  musical  ear — 
had  become  as  brothers. 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF       213 

There  is  a  proverb  which  says  In  vino  Veritas,  and 
talks  of  truth  in  wine.  This  is  manifest  mistake.  In- 
toxication is  the  very  seed  of  mendacity,  and  a  drunken 
man  is  always  and  everywhere  a  liar.  After  the  tenth 
drink,  Mr.  Pepin  and  Mr.  Kelly  communed  together  af- 
fectionately, and  Mr.  Pepin  told  Mr.  Kelly  of  the  con- 
tralto. He  spoke  of  the  domestic  affections,  said  it 
was  the  one  sorrow  of  his  life  that  the  contralto  wasn't 
with  liim  in  Dodge,  and  bewept  a  poverty  which  sepa- 
rated them.  He  explained  that  if  Mr.  Kelly  could  but  see 
his  heart  he  might  then  gain  some  glimmer  of  the  grief 
that  fed  upon  it.  Mr.  Pepin  cried  profoundly,  and  Mr. 
Kelly,  who  loved  him,  united  his  sobs  to  jNIr.  Pepin's. 
Controlling  his  grief,  Mr.  Pepin  averred  that  he  lived 
only  for  a  day  when,  having  accumulated  what  treasure 
was  necessary  for  the  enterprise,  he  could  bring  his  con- 
tralto to  Dodge,  and  show  that  aggregation  of  bumpkins 
what  a  real  lady  was  like.  Then  Mr.  Pepin  went  to 
sleep  with  his  head  on  a  poker  table,  and  forgot  every 
word  he  had  spoken  to  Mr.  Kelly. 

Mr.  Kelly  had  a  better  memory ;  he  was  capable  of 
more  liquor  than  was  Mr.  Pepin,  And  he  was  Mr.  Pepin's  -• 
friend.  Mr.  Kelly  resolved  upon  a  sentimental  surprise. 
He  would  restore  that  contralto  to  the  arms  and  heart  of 
Mr.  Pepin.  The  latter  should  not  wait  upon  the  pain- 
ful, slow  achievement  of  what  funds  were  called  for. 


214  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Mr.  Kelly  had  money ;  and  to  what  better  purpose,  pray, 
can  one's  money  be  put  than  a  promotion  of  the  happi- 
ness of  a  friend?  Mr.  Kelly  had  jotted  down  the  lady's 
address — being  that  of  a  dramatic  agency — as  fur- 
nished drunkcnly  by  I\Ir.  Pepin,  and  he  now  wired  her  to 
come  at  once.  Mr.  Kelly  benevolently  closed  his  message 
with: 

*'If  you're  broke,  draw  on  me  for  five  hundred." 

Having  accomplished  so  much,  INIr.  Kelly  as  a  reward 
of  merit  bestowed  upon  himself  a  huge  drink.  Then  he 
gave  himself  up  to  those  feelings  of  self-approval  that 
come  blandly  to  souls  engaged  upon  virtuous  works. 

The  day  next  but  one  after  sending  his  message,  Mr. 
Kelly  received  the  following  from  the  contralto: 

"Have  drawn  for  five  hundred.  Will  start  for  Dodge 
in  a  week." 

In  the  beginning,  Mr.  Kelly  had  planned  to  keep  the 
joy  in  store  for  Mr.  Pepin  a  secret  from  that  virtuoso. 
Mr.  Pepin  was  to  know  nothing  of  the  bliss  that  was 
being  arranged  for  him.  His  earliest  information  should 
come  when  Mr.  Kelly  led  him  to  the  Wright  House, 
where  his  contralto  was  awaiting  him  with  parted  hps 
and  outstretched,  loving  hands. 

"Which   I'll  nacherally  bring  down  heaven  on  him 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF       215 

like  a  pan  of  milk  from  a  top  shelf !"  quoth  the  excellent 
Mr.  Kelly. 

As  stated,  this  was  the  plan ;  but  after  receiving  the 
contralto's  message,  INIr.  Kelly  decided  upon  amend- 
ments. It  would  be  safer,  when  all  was  said,  to  let  Mr. 
Pepin  hear  of  the  contralto  and  her  coming.  jNIr.  Pepin 
was  a  frail  man;  a  sudden  joy  might  strike  him  dead. 
Mr.  Kelly  had  heard  of  such  cases.  Not  to  invite  any 
similar  catastrophe  in  the  fragile  instance  of  jMr.  Pepin, 
Mr.  Kelly  took  liim  aside  and  told  liim  of  the  happiness 
ahead.  He  was  ten  minutes  in  the  telling,  rolling  the 
blessed  secret  beneath  his  tongue,  until  the  last  possible 
moment,  like  a  sweet  morsel. 

]Mr.  Pepin,  rendered  mute  by  his  peril,  said  never  a 
word.  He  read  the  contralto's  message  and  then  fell 
into  a  chair — glazed  of  eye  and  pale  of  cheek.  Mr. 
Kelly  poured  whiskey  down  Mr.  Pepin,  laying  his  faint- 
ness  to  bhss.  Mr.  Pepin  v/as  at  last  so  far  recov- 
ered that  he  could  walk.  But  his  eyes  roved  wildly,  like 
the  eyes  of  a  trapped  animal,  and  how  he  fiddled  through 
the  night  he  never  knew. 

Nature  preserves  herself  by  equilibriums.  He  who 
will  stop  and  think  must  see  that  this  is  so.  Wherever 
there  is  danger  there  is  defence,  a  poison  means  an  anti- 
dote and  the  distillery  and  the  rattlesnake  go  hand  in 
hand.     The  day  of  Mr.  Kelly's  headlong  breaking  into 


216  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

the  domestic  affairs  of  Mr.  Pepin,  was  the  day  upon 
which  the  Lone  Wolf  came  into  Dodge.  The  Lone  Wolf 
lost  no  time,  but  sought  out  Mr.  Masterson.  His  ragged 
blanket  and  blackened  face  must  be  explained,  and  the 
Lone  Wolf  told  Mr.  Masterson  of  his  lost  "medicine." 
Moreover,  he  set  forth  his  design  of  presently  potting 
that  Pawnee  or  Sioux,  and  sequestering,  de  bene  essey 
the  dead  person's  "medicine." 

Mr.  Masterson  spoke  against  this  latter  scheme;  to 
carry  it  out  would  betray  the  Lone  Wolf  into  all  sorts 
and  fashions  of  trouble.  The  Lone  Wolf's  Great  Father 
in  Washington  objected  to  these  unauthorized  homicides, 
and  would  send  the  walkaheaps  or  the  pony-soldiers 
from  the  Fort  upon  the  trail  of  the  Lone  Wolf. 

As  against  this,  the  Lone  Wolf  showed  that  he  was 
even  then  in  all  sorts  and  fashions  of  trouble  by  reason 
of  his  lost  "medicine,"  and  nothing  the  Great  Father 
did  could  add  to  it.  What  was  he,  the  Lone  Wolf,  to 
do?  He  must  have  a  "medicine."  He  could  not  make 
a  new  one,  for  the  Great  Spirit  had  passed  commands 
against  it.  He  could  not  buy  one,  for  every  Indian 
urgently  needed  his  "medicine"  in  his  own  affairs,  and 
when  he  died  it  must  be  buried  with  him  since  he  would 
then  need  it  more  than  ever.  There  was  no  other  solu- 
tion. He  must  knock  out  the  brains  of  that  Pawnee 
■or   Sioux   of   whom   he  was   in   pursuit.      There  would 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF       217 

then  be  an  extra  "medicine"  on  earth,  and  he  might 
claim  it. 

Mr.  Masterson  owned  a  fertile  intelligence ;  a  bright 
thought  came  to  him.  He  told  the  Lone  Wolf  that  he 
knew  one  who  was  the  chief  of  all  medicine  men,  and 
master  of  the  mightiest  "medicines."  This  personage, 
by  a  most  marvellous  chance,  had  an  extra  "medicine." 
Mr.  Masterson  was  sure  that  if  the  need  were  properly 
presented,  his  friend  the  Lone  Wolf  could  buy  this 
"medicine."  The  Lone  Wolf  would  then,  in  that  matter 
of  a  "medicine,"  to  quote  from  Mr.  IMasterson,  "have 
every  other  Cheyenne  too  dead  to  skin." 

Mr.  Masterson  conveyed  the  Lone  Wolf  to  Mr.  Pea- 
cock's Dance  Hall,  and  called  his  attention  to  Mr.  Pepin, 
who,  made  desperate  by  the  peep  into  a  contralto-filled 
future  which  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Kelly  had  afforded  liim, 
was  fiddling  as  he  n'er  fiddled  before.  The  Lone  Wolf 
gazed  planet-smitten.  Even  without  the  spotless  word 
of  Mr.  Masterson,  he  would  have  known  by  the  hump  on 
his  shoulders — that  especial  mark  of  the  Great  Spirit's 
favour! — how  ]\lr.  Pepin  was  a  most  tremendous  medi- 
cine man.  Neither  was  it  needed  that  Mr.  Masterson  in- 
struct liim  as  to  the  prodigious  qualities  of  the  resound- 
ing "medicine"  which  Mr.  Pepin  fondled.  The  Lone  Wolf 
could  hear  the  wailing  and  sobbing  and  singing  of  the 
scores  of  ghosts — as  many  as  four  screaming  at  once ! — 


218  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

that  dwelt  therein,  and  whose  sensibilities  Mr.  Pepin 
worked  upon  with  the  wand  in  his  right  hand. 

Between  dances,  that  gentleman  being  at  leisure,  Mr. 
Masterson  made  Mr.  Pepin  acquainted  with  the  Lone 
Wolf,  and  set  forth — winking  instructively  the  wlille — 
tlie  sore  dilemma  of  his  Cheyenne  friend.  ]\Ir.  Masterson 
explained  that  he  had  told  the  Lone  Wolf  about  an  extra 
"medicine"  whereof  he,  Mr.  Pepin,  was  endowed.  Would 
Mr.  Pepin,  from  his  charity  and  goodness,  sell  tills  price- 
less "medicine"  to  the  Lone  Wolf,  and  lift  liim  out  of  that 
-abyss  into  whlcli  he  had  fallen? 

Mr.  Pepin  owned  an  extra  violin,  that  was  not  a  good 
violin  and  therefore  out  of  commission.  It  abode  in  a 
black,  oblong  box,  like  a  little  coffin.  Being  the  kindest 
of  souls,  he  declined  the  thouglit  of  sale,  and  said  that 
he  would  gixe  it  to  Mr.  Masterson's  friend,  the  Lone 
Wolf.  He  took  it  from  its  case,  which  on  being  opened 
displayed  an  advantageous  lining  of  red.  The  Lone 
Wolf  received  it  reverently,  smeiled  to  It,  peered  through 
the  slashes  in  its  bosom,  placed  It  to  his  ear,  and  then 
with  a  kind  of  awe  turned  to  Mr.  Pepin.  Was  this  "medi- 
cine" also  full  of  ghosts?  Mr.  Pepin  took  it  and  bow- 
fully  showed  him  that  It  was  a  very  hive  of  ghosts. 

The  Lone  Wolf  declared  that  he  would  receive  this 
inestimable  "medicine"  from  JMr.  Pepin.  To  simply 
handle  it  had  given  him  a  good  heart.     Its  mere  touch, 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF       219 

to  say  notliing  of  the  voices  of  those  ghosts  imprisoned 
in  its  cherry  coloured  belly,  cheered  liim  and  thrilled  him 
as  had  no  other  "medicine."  He  would  return  to  his 
people,  and  scowl  in  every  man's  face.  His  squaws 
should  again  hold  up  their  heads,  his  pappooses  cease 
their  crying.  His  dogs'  tails  should  proudly  curl  aloft, 
and  his  ponies  snort  contempt  for  the  broncos  of  feebler 
folk.  Altogether  the  Lone  Wolf  pictured  for  himself  a 
balmy  future.  In  conclusion,  the  grateful  Lone  Wolf 
set  forth  that,  while  he  was  proud  to  take  this  wondrous 
"medicine"  as  a  gift,  he  must  still  bestow  those  pack 
ponies,  with  their  cargoes  of  robes  and  furs,  upon  Mr. 
Pepin,  who  was  his  heart's  brother. 

The  Lone  Wolf  told  Mr.  Masterson  that  he  would 
put  in  the  balance  of  the  evening  in  Mr.  Peacock's  Dance 
Plall.  He  desired  to  sit  by  the  side  of  his  heart's  brother 
and  listen  to  the  talk  of  his  "medicine."  Mr.  Pepin  in- 
structed the  Lone  Wolf  how  he  might  bind  that  precious 
fiddle-case  to  his  shoulders  with  straps,  and  wear  it  like 
a  knapsack.  The  Lone  Wolf,  being  thus  adorned,  gave 
himself  a  new  title.  He  was  no  more  the  Lone  Wolf; 
he  had  lost  that  name  in  the  Beaver  with  his  old  "medi- 
cine." He  had  become  "The-Man-who-packs-his-medi- 
cine-on-his-back." 

After  the  Dance  Hall  revels  were  done,  being  alone  to- 
gether, the  Lone  Wolf  and  Mr.  Pepin  fell  into  closer 


220  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

talk.  Two  days  later,  no  one  could  have  found  Mr. 
Pepin  with  a  search  warrant.  The  Lone  Wolf,  too,  had 
disappeared. 

When  Dodge  realised  the  spiriting  away  of  Mr.  Pepin, 
a  howl,  not  to  say  a  hue  and  cry,  went  up.  In  the  woeful 
midst  of  the  excitement,  ]\Ir.  Kelly  informed  the  world  of 
his  negotiations  with  the  contralto.  This  news  created 
the  utmost  consternation. 

"It  was  that  which  run  liim  out  o'  camp,"  said  Cimar- 
ron Bill,  referring  to  the  departed  Mr.  Pepin.  "You've 
stampeded  him  by  sendin'  for  his  wife." 

Dodge  could  not  but  look  coldly  upon  Mr.  Kelly  for 
his  foolish  header  into  the  household  affairs  of  Mr. 
Pepin.  And  there  was  a  serious  side:  the  contralto  had 
said  she  would  start  for  Dodge  in  a  week.  When  she 
arrived,  and  Mr.  Kelly  could  not  produce  Mr.  Pepin, 
what  would  be  her  course?  Dodge  could  not  guess;  it 
could  only  shudder.  In  her  resentment  the  contralto 
might  marry  ]\Ir.  Kelly.  Cimarron  Bill  expressed  a 
hope  that  she  would.  He  said  that  such  an  upcome  would 
punish  Mr.  Kelly  as  well  as  offer  safety  to  Dodge. 

*'For  that  lady's  disapp'intment,"  said  Cimarron  Bill, 
**Is  goin'  to  be  frightful ;  an'  if  ever  she  turas  loose  once, 
thar'll  be  nothin'  for  Dodge  to  do  but  adjourn  sijie  die.^" 

Mr.  Kelly  had  lived  long  on  the  border  and  was  a 
resourceful  man.     He  saw  the  dangers  that  surrounded 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF       221 

him,  and  appreciated,  as  he  phrased  it,  that  he  "was  out 
on  a  hmb."  He  must  act  without  delay,  or  there  was 
no  measuring  the  calamities  that  might  overtake  liim. 
Thank  heaven !  the  contralto  would  not  start  for  three 
full  days.  There  was  still  time,  if  Mr.  Kelly  moved  rap- 
idly.   Mr.  Kelly  wired  the  contralto 

"Your  husband  dropped  dead  with  joy  on  hearing  you 
were  coming.     You  may  keep  the  money.'* 

Mr.  Masterson,  to  whom  he  read  this  message,  ap- 
proved it,  and  said  that  it  did  Mr.  Kelly  credit.  At 
Mr.  Masterson's  suggestion,  Mr.  Kelly  added  the  in- 
quiry, 

"Shall  I  ship  body  to  New  York.?" 

as  calculated  to  allay  doubts. 

Both  Mr.  Kelly  and  Dodge  breathed  more  freely  when 
the  contralto  replied,  expressed  her  tearful  thanks,  and 
said  that,  as  to  shipment  suggested,  Mr.  Kelly  needn't 
mind. 

"An*  you  can  gamble,  Bat,"  observed  Mr.  Kelly,  sol- 
emly,  "it's  the  last  time  I'll  open  a  correspondence,  that 
a-way,  with  another  gent's  wife." 

It  was  during  the  frosts  of  a  next  autumn  that  Mr. 
Masterson,  in  his  official  character,  was  over  on  the 
Cimarron  looking  for  stolen  horses.    He  decided  upon  a 


222  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

visit  to  Bear  Shield's  band,  since  stolen  horses  amonsr 
the  Cheyennes  were  not  without  a  precedent. 

In  the  earlier  hours  of  an  evening  full  of  moonlight 
and  natural  peace,  Mr.  Masterson  came  into  Bear 
Shield's  village  through  a  yelping  skirmish  line  of  dogs. 
As  he  rode  leisurely  fonvard,  he  could  hear  above  the 
howling  of  the  dogs  the  "Tunk,  tunk  !"  of  a  native  drum, 
which  is  not  a  drum  but  a  tomtom.  As  he  drew  slowly 
nearer,  the  "Hy  3'ali !  hy  yah !  hy !"  of  savage  singing 
taught  an  experienced  intelligence  that  the  Che3-ennes 
were  holding  a  dance.  This  was  not  surprising;  the 
Cheyennes,  when  not  hunting  nor  robbing  nor  scalping, 
are  generally  holding  a  dance. 

And  yet  the  situation  was  not  lacking  in  elements  of 
amazement.  The  "Tunk!  tunk!"  and  the  "Hy  yah! 
hy  yah!  hy!"  Mr.  Masterson  could  explain,  for  he  had 
heard  them  many  times.  But  over  and  under  and 
through  them  all  ran  a  thin,  wailing  note  which  would 
have  been  understandable  in  a  hurdy-gurdy,  but  fell 
strangely  not  to  say  fantastically'  upon  the  car  when 
heard  in  an  Indian  village  among  the  cottonwoods,  with 
the  whispering  soft  rush  of  the  Cimarron  to  bear  it 
compeinj. 

Full  of  curiosity,  and  yet  with  a  half  guess,  Mr.  Mas- 
terson threw  himself  from  the  saddle  and  made  his  way 
through  the  circle  of  spectators  that  were  as  a  frame 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF      223 

for  the  dance.  There,  in  good  sooth!  sat  Mr.  Pepin, 
flourishing  a  tuneful  bow.  He  was  giving  them  the 
"Gjpsy  Chorus,"  while  an  Indian  drummer  beat  out  the 
time  en  his  tomtom.  Back  of  Mr.  Pepin  were  squatted  a 
half  dozen  young  squaws,  who  furnished  the  "Hy  yah ! 
hy !"  It  cannot  be  said  that  these  fair  vocalists  closely 
followed  the  score  as  written  by  Mr.  Balfe;  but  they 
struck  all  about  him,  and  since  time  was  perfect  the 
dancers  skated  and  crouched  and  towered  and  leaped 
and  crept  thereunto  with  the  utmost  eclat. 

Mr.  Masterson  moved  into  a  position  where  he  might 
have  the  moonlight  full  upon  Mr.  Pepin.  That  lost 
genius  was  indeed  a  splendid  spectacle!  His  hair  ex- 
hibited a  plumy  bristle  of  feathers,  while  the  paints  on 
his  face  offered  a  colour  scheme  by  the  dazzling  side  of 
which  the  most  brilliant  among  the  Cheyennes  dwindled 
into  dreary  failure. 

After  the  dance,  Mr.  Masterson  talked  with  Mr. 
Pepin.  It  was  as  Mr.  Masterson  had  surmised;  in  his 
despair  at  the  threatened  coming  of  the  contralto,  and 
having  advantage  of  the  Lone  Wolf's  new  friendship, 
Mr.  Pepin  had  thrown  himself  upon  the  Cheyennes. 
They  received  him  most  decorously,  for  the  Lone  Wolf 
made  a  speech  that  opened  their  eyes.  The  Lone  Wolf 
had  exhibited  his  new  "medicine,"  and  requested  Mr. 
Pepin  to  make  the  ghosts  talk,  which  he  did.     The 


^M  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

hunch  on  Mr.  Pepin's  back  was  also  a  mighty  endorse- 
ment. It  was  as  the  signature  of  the  Great  Spirit,  and 
bespoke  for  him  an  instant  Cheyenne  vogue.  Bear  Shield 
became  his  friend;  the  Lone  Wolf  continued  to  be  his 
heart's  brother.  He  was  given  a  lodge.  Then  Bear 
Shield  bestowed  upon  him  his  daughter  Red  Bud  to  be  , 
his  wife. 

Mr.  Pepin  confessed  that  he  might  have  hesitated  at 
this  final  honour,  but  the  thoroughgoing  Bear  Shield  ac- 
companied the  gift  of  the  blooming  Red  Bud  with  a  fine 
elm  club.  The  two  went  ever  together,  Bear  Shield  said, 
and  explained  the  marital  possibilities  of  the  elm  club. 
Mr.  Pepin  had  always  heard  how  there  was  a  per  cent, 
of  good  among  every  sort  and  sept  of  men.  He  could 
now  bear  -Ratness  that  the  Cheyennes  nourished  views 
concerning  matrimony,  and  the  rights  of  husband  and 
wife,  for  which  much  might  be  said. 

Mr.  Pepin  did  not  wish  to  return  to  the  whites ;  the 
Indians  were  devoid  of  contraltos.  The  Lone  Wolf 
filled  his  lodge  with  buffalo  beef  and  robes.  By 
way  of  receiving  return,  he  came  once  a  week,  and  asked 
his  heart's  brother  to  make  the  ghosts  in  his  "medicine"  I 
tell  him  their  impressions.  Under  Mr.  Pepin's  spell 
the  ghosts  were  sure  to  talk  hopefully  and  with  cour- 
ageous optimism.  Their  usual  discourse  took  the  form 
of  "Johnny  Comes  Marching  Home,"  or  "The  Girl  I 


THE  MEDICINE  OF  LONE   WOLF       225 

Left  Behind  Me."     These  never  failed  to  make  the  Lone 
Wolf's  heart  both  bold  and  good. 

Mr.  Masterson  presently  met  the  Lone  Wolf.  That 
warrior  was  wearing  his  fiddle-case  "medicine"  on  his 
back,  after  the  manner  of  a  squaw  carrying  her  pap- 
poose.  The  Lone  Wolf  had  a  prideful  look  which  he 
held  was  one  of  the  beneficent  effects  of  his  "medicine." 
He  confided  to  Mr.  Masterson  that  Mr.  Pepin's  Chey- 
enne name  was  a  rumbling  procession  of  gutterals  that, 
translated,    meant    "The-toad-that-sings-like-a-thrush." 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  INTUITIONS  OF  MR.  ALLISON. 

I  OR  a  moment  the  signs  promised  hugely  of  smoke 
and  flying  lead  and  sudden  death,  and  the  inter- 
est of  Dodge  was  awakened.  Later,  when  the 
episode  had  been  thoroughly  searched,  it  grew  to  be  the 
popular  conclusion  that  the  affair  was  wholly  of  the  sur- 
face. Mr.  Allison  himself  said  that  he  was  saved  in  a 
manner  occult,  and  not  to  be  understood,  and  explained 
how  his  intuitions  warned  liim  of  a  pending  peril.  Had 
it  not  been  for  those  warning  impressions,  which  he  in- 
sisted came  from  guardian  spirits  interested  for  his 
safety,  Mr.  Allison  held  that  the  business  might  have 
taken  on  a  serious  not  to  say  a  sanguinary  hue. 

Cimarron  Bill  declined  the  theory  of  guardian  spirits 
as  maintained  by  Mr.  Allison  ;  he  took  the  blame  of  that 
gentleman's  escape  upon  himself. 

"Clay  never  got  no  spcritual  hunch,"  said  Cimarron. 

"Which   it  was   my   oavti   ontimely   cur'osity  that   give 

226. 


THE  INTUITIONS  OF  MR.  ALLISON     227 

him  wamin'.  I'm  in  the  Long  Branch  at  the  time, 
an'  nacherall}',  after  gettin'  Bat's  word,  I  keep  pro- 
troodin'  my  head  a  whole  lot,  expectin'  every  minute's 
goin'  to  be  Clay's  next ;  an'  he  ups  an'  notices  it." 

Mr.  Short  joined  with  Cimarron,  and  expressed  a 
skepticism  as  to  j\Ir.  AlUson  having  been  bucklered  by 
disembodied  influences. 

"I  never  did  go  a  foot,"  concluded  ]\Ir,  Short,  "on 
speritualism,  with  its  table-tippin'  an'  its  ghost-dancin'. 
Cimarron's  argument  sounds  a  heap  more  feasible.  In 
my  opinion,  Clay  saw  thar  was  a  hen  on  by  Cimarron's 
face." 

"You  can  gamble  a  handful  of  reds,"  remarked  Ci- 
marron Bill,  disgustedh',  "he  sees  it  in  mj'^  face.  Which 
it'll  be  a  lesson  to  me  to  liide  myse'f  the  next  time  one  of 
them  Las  Animas  terrors  comes  bulgin'  into  camp, 
cntil  Bat's  added  him  to  the  list.  I  shore  won't  sp'ile 
another  sech  a  layout  by  bein'  prematoorly  inquisitive 
that  a-way." 

"Well,"  returned  Mr.  Masterson,  with  whom  Mr. 
Short  and  Cimarron  Bill  were  in  talk,  "whether  Clay 
vras  saved  by  spirits,  or  by  just  his  own  horse  sense,  I'm 
glad  it  ended  as  it  did." 

The  chances  favour  the  assumption  that,  had  Mr.  Mas- 
terson been  up  and  about,  the  trouble  would  have  had  no 
beginning.     In  that  event  he  would  have  been  more  or 


228  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

less  in  tlic  company  of  Mr.  Allison.  Such  a  spectacle, 
vhile  it  might  not  instruct  the  mean  intelligence  of  the 
Ground  Owl,  would  have  at  least  advised  his  caution.  He 
would  have  gained  therefrom  some  glint  of  Mr.  Allison's 
position  in  the  world,  and  refrained  from  insults  which, 
when  the  latter  reviewed  them  by  the  hght  of  liquor 
afterwards  obtained,  sent  him  on  the  wretched  Ground 
Owl's  trail. 

Those  differences  between  Mr.  Allison  and  the  Ground 
Owl  began  at  the  Wright  House  breakfast  table.  They 
did  not  culminate,  however,  until  late  in  the  morning,  and 
when,  commonly,  Mr.  INIasterson  would  have  been  abroad 
about  his  duty.  But  the  night  before  had  been  a  trying 
one  for  Mr.  Masterson.  He  was  employed  until  broad 
day  in  keeping  IMr.  McBride  from  slaying  Bobby  Gill, 
and  never  sought  his  blankets  until  an  hour  after  dawn. 

Mr.  McBride  had  been  a  brother  scout  with  Mr.  Mas- 
terson in  the  Cheyenne  wars.  Later  he  came  to  Dodge, 
as  he  said,  to  "quiet  down."  In  carrying  out  his  plan 
of  quieting  down,  INIr.  IMcBride  espoused  and  took  to 
wife,  one  Bridget,  who  for  years  had  been  recognised  as 
the  official  scold  of  Dodge. 

In  an  elder  day,  Bridget  would  have  graced  a  duck- 
ing-stool. Dodge,  however,  oAvned  no  such  instrument  of 
correction.  Neither,  save  during  the  June  rise,  was  there 
a  sufficient  depth  of  water  in  the  Arkansas  to  make  a 


THE  INTUITIONS  OF  MR.  ALLISON     229 

ducking-stool  effective.  I\Ir.  INIcBride  following  mar- 
riage lived  in  terror  of  Bridget's  awful  tongue,  which 
served  him  right,  so  people  said,  for  having  been  a  fool. 

At  the  end  of  their  first  wedded  year,  that  is  to  say 
upon  the  third  day  prior  to  the  trouble  between  Mr.  Al- 
lison and  the  Ground  Owl,  Mr.  McBride,  by  some  lucky 
tliick-skull  utterance  as  to  what  should  be  a  govern- 
ment policy  touching  Cheyennes,  incurred  the  contempt 
of  Bridget.  The  word  "lucky"  is  emploj'ed  because  the 
contempt  induced  was  be3^ond  power  of  words  to  express, 
and  Bridget  became  so  surcharged  of  views  derogatory 
to  Mr.  McBride  that  she  burst  a  blood-vessel  and  died. 
]Mr.  jNIcBride's  release  left  him  in  a  pleasant  daze. 
Being,  however,  a  slave  to  the  conventional,  he  did  not 
laugh,  but  lapsed  into  lamentations,  wound  his  sombrero 
with  black  and,  with  woe-lengthened  visage,  made  ready 
for  the  last  rites. 

On  the  da}'  of  the  funeral,  it  being  the  immemorial 
custom  of  Dodge  to  attend  such  ceremonies  in  a  body, 
the  house  of  Mr.  McBride  was  full.  Mr.  McBride  felt 
the  tribute,  and  his  heart  swelled  with  excusable  pride. 
He  glanced  out  through  his  tears,  and  counted  as  present 
the  best  faces  of  the  town. 

The  occasion  would  have  been  forever  cherished  among 
the  proudest  memories  of  Mr.  McBride,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  untoward  conduct  of  Bobby  Gill.     This  latter 


S30  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

ignobility  was  the  pet  barbarian  of  Dodge,  just  as  Brid- 
get had  been  its  pet  virago.  Also,  there  had  existed  feud 
between  Bridget  and  Bobby ;  they  had  felt  for  one  an- 
other the  jealous  hate  of  rivals.  Bridget  at  the  mere 
sight  of  Bobby  Gill  was  wont  to  uncork  the  vitriol  of  her 
anger.  She  would  sear  him  verbally,  while  he  rephed  in 
kind,  Dodge  standing  by  to  listen  and  admire. 

Still,  Bridget  was  never  permitted  a  victory  over 
Bobby.  While  she  could  say  more  than  he  could,  lus  ob- 
servations had  a  cutting  force  be^'^ond  her  genius.  As 
Mr.  Kelly — who  was  deep  in  the  lore  of  guns — observed : 

"Bridget's  like  a  Winchester,  while  old  Bobby's  like 
a  Sharp's.  She  can  shoot  faster  than  he  can  ;  but  thar's 
more  powder  beliind  what  Bobby  says.  Also,  he's  got 
more  muzzle  velocity.    An'  he  carries  further." 

"I  entertains  opinions  similar,"  said  Cimarron  Bill, 
who  as  Aunt  Nettie  Dawson's  .nephew  was  no  mean 
judge  of  a  tirade. 

As  Mr.  McBride  was  feeding  that  pardonable  vanity 
chronicled  and  flattering  himself  with  a  review  of  the 
mourning  throng,  Bobby  Gill  appeared  at  the  door. 
Bobby  toed  in  like  an  Indian  or  a  pigeon,  and  because 
he  walked  on  the  ball  of  liis  foot  as  does  the  wolf,  he 
possessed  a  lurking,  spying  manner. 

Bobby  came  in,  his  wool  hat  held  between  his  fingers, 
in  a  tight  roll.    Being  in  he  began  peeping  and  peering, 


THE  INTUITIONS  OF  MR.  ALLISON     231 

right  and  left,  and  craning  over  intervening  shoulders  as 
though  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  casket.  ]\{r.  McBride 
crossed  over  to  Bobb}'  with  a  step  serious  and  slow : 

*'Bobby,"  said  Mr.  McBride,  manner  gloomlj  firm, 
*'you  an'  Bridget  never  agreed,  an'  you'll  obleege  me  by 
hittin'  the  street." 

Bobby  backed  softly  out.  At  the  door,  as  though  to 
vindicate  the  respectful  innocence  of  his  motives,  he 
paused. 

"Say,  Mack,"  he  whispered,  in  mingled  apology  and 
reproach,  "I  only  jest  wanted  to  see  was  she  shore  dead." 

It  wasn't  until  late  in  the  evening,  when  the  sad  re- 
sponsibilities of  the  day  had  been  lifted  from  his  mind, 
that  Mr.  IMcBride  became  a  burden  upon  the  hands  of 
Mr.  Masterson.  Mr.  jNIcBride  said  that  he'd  been  in- 
sulted; the  memory  of  Bridget  he  averred  had  met  with 
disrespect.  Thereupon  he  buckled  on  his  six-shooter — 
which  had  been  laid  aside  in  funeral  deference  to  the  day 
— and  announced  an  intention  to  hunt  down  Bobby  Gill. 

"Come,  Mack !"  argued  Mr.  Masterson,  soothingly, 
*'it  isn't  creditable  to  you — isn't  creditable  to  Bridget." 

"But,  Bat,"  sobbed  jNIr.  McBride,  as  he  half-cocked 
his  Colt's-45,  and  sadly  revolved  the  cylinder  to  make 
sure  that  all  worked  smoothily,  "I've  put  up  with  a  heap 
from  Bobby — me  and  Bridget  has — an'  now  I'm  goin' 
to  nacherally  discontinue  him  a  lot." 


232  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

"You  oughtn't  to  mind  old  Bobby,"  Mv.  Masterson 
insisted.     "Everybody  knows  he's  locoed.'* 

"If  he's  locoed,"  Mr.  IMcBride  retorted  through  his 
grief,  "I'm  locoed,  too.  Sorrow  over  Bridget  an'  the 
onmerited  contoomely  of  that  old  profligate  has  shore 
left  me  as  crazy  as  a  woman's  watch.  Bat,  don't  stop 
me !    Wliich  I've  sot  my  heart  on  his  h'ar." 

Mr.  Masterson  was  granite.  There  was  no  shaking 
him  off.  He  persuaded,  commanded,  explained,  and 
gave  his  word  that  Bobby  Gill  should  make  humble 
amends.  At  last,  Mr.  ^NIcBride,  realising  the  inevitable, 
surrendered,  and  promised  to  be  at  peace. 

"For  all  that.  Bat,"  concluded  Mr.  McBride,  with 
a  gulp,  "old  Bobby's  queered  them  obsequies  for 
me.  I  can  never  look  back  on  'em  now  without  re- 
gret." 

It  was  the  bluish  dawn  before  Mr.  Masterson  felt 
justified  in  leaving  the  widowed  Mr.  IMcBride.  He  was 
so  worn  with  liis  labours  that  he  made  no  more  profound 
arrangements  for  slumber  than  casting  aside  his  coat 
and  kicking  off  his  boots.  A  moment  later  he  was  as 
sound  asleep  as  a  tree. 

Mr.  IVIasterson  had  been  asleep  four  hours,  when  Jack 
broke  in  upon  him  with  the  rude  word  tliat  ]\Ir.  Allison 
had  "turned  in  to  tree  the  town." 

*'You  can  nail  him  from  the  window,"  puffed  Jack, 


THE  INTUITIONS  OF  MR.  ALLISON     233 

who  was  out  of  breath  with  hurry.  "You  haven't  time 
to  pull  on  your  boots  and  go  down.  Your  best  hold  is 
to  get  the  drop  on  him  from  the  window,  an'  when  he 
makes  a  break,  cut  loose." 

Mr.  Masterson  sprang  from  the  blankets  and  caught 
up  his  Sharp's  for  the  honour  of  Dodge.  To  permit  Mr. 
Allison  to  give  the  town  an  unchecked  shaking  up  would 
mean  immortal  disgrace.  For  all  the  hurry,  however, 
Mr.  Masterson  had  time  to  admire  the  military  sagacity 
of  Jack. 

"Some  day  you'll  make  a  marshal.  Jack,"  quoth  Mr. 
Masterson,  and  the  "cluck-cluck !"  of  the  buffalo  gun  as 
he  cocked  it  served  to  punctuate  the  remark. 

Some  cynic,  with  a  purpose  to  injure  that  common- 
wealth only  equalled  by  his  sour  carelessness  of  truth, 
once  said  that  Indiana  was  settled  by  folk  who  had  started 
for  the  West,  but  lost  their  nerve.  Tliis  is  apparent 
slander,  and  not  to  be  believed  of  a  people  who  later 
endowed  us  with  Ade,  Tarkington,  David  Graham  Phil- 
lips and  Ben  Hur.  The  one  disgrace  traceable  to  Indi- 
ana is  that  in  some  unguarded  moment  she  gave  birth 
to  the  Ground  Owl,  and  sent  him  forth  to  vex  the 
finer  sentiments  of  Dodge.  Also  the  Ground  Owl,  with 
his  insolences,  imbecilities,  and  feeble  timidities,  was 
the  harder  to  bear  since  he  never  once  offered  the  out- 
raged public,  in  whose  side  he  was  the  thorn,  an  open- 


234  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

ing  to  be  rid  of  lilm  by  customurj  lead  and  powder 
means. 

The  Ground  Owl  had  come  to  Dodge  in  fear  and  trem- 
bling. He  did  not  want  to  come,  but  for  reasons 
never  fathomed  he  couldn't  remain  in  Indiana.  It  was 
a  wliolesale  firm  in  Chicago  that  asked  Mr.  Wright  to 
employ  him  as  salesman  in  his  store;  and  Mr.  Wright, 
acting  after  those  reckless  business  methods  that  obtain 
in  the  West  and  are  a  never  flagging  wellspring 
of  trouble,  consented  without  waiting  to  see  the  Ground 
Owl  or  estimate  his  length  and  breadth  and  depth  as  a 
communal  disaster.  For  tliis  blinded  procedure  Mr. 
Wnght  was  often  sorely  blamed. 

And  yet  to  ]\Ir.  Masterson,  rather  than  to  Mr. 
Wright,  should  be  charged  the  prolonged  infliction  of 
the  Ground  Owl's  presence.  Once  installed  beliind  the 
counters  of  Mr.  Wright,  the  Ground  Owl  lost  no  time 
in  seeking  Mr.  jMasterson.  Every  Dodgeian  wore  a  gun, 
and  tliis  display  of  force  excited  the  Ground  Owl  vastly. 
The  latent  uncertainties  of  his  surroundings  alarmed 
him.  Dodge  was  a  volcano;  an  eruption  migh  occur  at 
any  time !  The  air  to-day  was  wholesome ;  to-morrow  it 
might  be  as  full  of  lead  as  the  Ozarks !  In  this  fashion 
vibrated  the  hair-hung  fears  of  the  Ground  Owl,  and 
with  a  cheek  of  chalk  he  sought  out  ]Mr.  Masterson  to 
canvass  ways  and  means  to  best  conserve  his  safety. 


THE  INTUITIONS  OF  MR.  ALLISON     235 

Mr.  Masterson,  who  could  hardly  grasp  the  notion 
of  personal  cowardice  on  the  part  of  any  man,  was 
shocked.  However,  lie  made  no  comment,  evinced  not  the 
least  sui-prise,  but  asked: 

"You're  afraid  some  of  the  boys'll  shoot  you  up?" 

"In  some  moment  of  excitement,  you  know !"  returned 
the  Ground  Owl,  quaveringly. 

"And  you  want  to  know  what  to  do  to  be  saved?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Ground  Owl,  attention  on  the  strain. 

"Then  never  pack  a  gun." 

Mr.  Masterson  explained  to  the  Ground  Owl  that  to 
slay  an  unarmed  man,  whatever  the  provocation,  was  be- 
yond an  etiquette.  The  West  would  never  sink  to  such 
vulgar  depths.  No  one,  however  locoed  of  drink,  would 
make  a  target  of  the  Ground  Owl  wliile  the  latter  wasn't 
heeled. 

"Of  course,"  observed  Mr.  Masterson,  by  way  of 
qualification,  "you're  not  to  go  hovering  about  scrim- 
mages in  which  you've  no  personal  concern.  In  that 
case,  some  of  the  boys  might  get  confused  and  rub  you 
out  erroneously." 

That  golden  secret  of  how  to  grow  old  in  the  West 
went  deep  into  the  aspen  soul  of  the  Ground  Owl.  As  its 
direct  fruit  he  would  as  soon  take  arsenic  as  belt  on  a 
pistol.  There  was  a  faulty  side,  however,  to  the  Master- 
son  suggestion.      In  time,   realising  an  immunity,  the 


236  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Ground  Owl  grew  confident;  and  the  confidence  bred  in- 
solence, and  a  smart  weakness  for  insulting  persiflage, 
that  were  among  the  most  exasperating  features  of  a  life 
in  Dodge  while  the  Ground  Owl  lasted. 

It  is  a  revenge  that  cowards  often  take.  Make  them 
safe,  and  you  are  apt  to  make  them  unbearable.  They 
will  offer  outrage  when  they  know  there  can  be  no  re- 
prisal. Thus  they  humour  themselves  with  the  impres- 
sion of  a  personal  courage  on  their  coward  parts,  and 
prevent  self-contempt  from  overwhelming  them. 

The  Ground  Owl  owned  another  name — a  rightful 
name.  It  was  Bennington  Du  Pont,  and  he  capitalized 
the  "Pont."  The  name  was  thrown  awaj'  on  Dodge,  for 
Cimarron  Bill  rechristened  him  the  Ground  Owl. 

"What  may  I  call  you?"  Cimarron  had  demanded. 
Then,  as  though  explaining  a  rudeness:  "The  reason 
I  inquire  is  that,  if  you-all  continues  to  grow  on  me,  I 
might  want  to  ask  you  to  take  a  seegyar." 

"Bennington  Du  Pont,"  faltered  the  Ground  Owl. 
"My  name  is  Bennington  Du  Pont." 

"Which  you'll  pardon  me,"  returned  Cimarron  Bill, 
severely,  "if  yereafter  I  prefers  to  alloode  to  you  as  the 
Ground  Owl." 

"The  Ground  Owl !"  exclaimed  the  renamed  one,  his 
horror  giving  him  a  desperate  courage.  "Why  the 
Ground  Owl.?" 


THE  INTUITIONS  OF  MR.  ALLISON     237 

"Why  the  Ground  Owl?"  repeated  Cimarron.  Then 
solemnly:  "Because  the  rattlesnakes  don't  kill  'em,  an* 
no  one  knows  wherefore." 

Thus  it  befell  that  within  twenty-four  hours  after 
his  advent  every  ear  in  Dodge  had  heard  of  the  Ground 
Owl,  and  not  one  of  Bennington  Du  Pont. 

The  Ground  Owl's  address  was  the  Wright  House. 
It  was  at  this  hostelry  he  received  his  earliest  ghmpse 
of  Mr.  Allison,  and  organised  those  insult-born  dif- 
ferences. 

Mr.  Alhson's  country  was  Las  Animas  and  the  region 
round  about.  He  had  been  over  in  the  Panhandle,  and 
was  spurring  homeward  by  way  of  Dodge.  Having  put 
his  weary  pony  in  the  corral,  he  sought  his  own  refresh- 
ment at  the  Wright  House. 

Mr.  Allison  was  celebrated  for  force  of  character,  and 
the  democratic  frankness  of  his  six-shooters.  His  en- 
trance into  Las  Animas'  social  circles  had  been  managed 
with  effect.  That  was  seven  3'ears  before,  and  Mr. 
Hixenbaugh  told  tliis  of  Mr.  Allison's  debut. 

"Which  r  was  in  the  Sound  Asleep  Saloon,"  explained 
Mr.  Hixenbaugh,  "tryin'  to  fill  a  club  flush,  when  the 
music  of  firearms  floats  over  from  across  the  street.  I 
goes  to  the  door  on  the  lope,  bein'  curious  as  to  who's  hit, 
an  thar  on  t'other  side  I  observes  a  sport  who's  suif  erin' 
from  one  of  them  deeformities   called  a  clubfoot,  and 


288  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

who's  got  a  gun  in  each  liand.  He's  jest  caught  Bill 
Gatling  in  the  knee,  an'  is  bcin'  harassed  at  with  six- 
shooters  by  Gene  Watkins  an'  Len  Woodruif,  who's 
whangin'  away  at  him  from  Crosbji-'s  door.  I  lands  on 
the^  sidewalk  in  time  to  see  him  hive  Gene  with  a  bullet  ' 
in  the  calf  of  liis  laig.  Then  Gene  an'  Bill  an'  Len, 
the  first  two  bein'  redooced  to  crawl  on  hands  an'  knees 
by  virchoo  of  them  bullets,  takes  refooge  in  Crosby's, 
an'  surveys  this  club-foot  party  a  heap  respectful  from 
a  winder.  As  I  crosses  over  to  extend  congratyoola- 
tions,  he  w'irls  on  me. 

"  *Be  you  too  a  hostile?'  he  asks,  domineerin'  at  me 
with  his  guns. 

"  'Hostile  notliin' !'  I  replies  ;  'I'm  simply  comin'  over 
in  a  sperit  of  admiration.     What's  the  trouble?' 

"  'Stranger,'  he  says,  'that  question  is  be3'0nd  me. 
I've  only  been  in  your  town  four  minutes,  an'  3'et  thar 
seems  to  be  a  kind  o'  prejewdyce  ag'inst  me  in  the  minds 
of  the  ignorant  few.  But  never  mind,'  he  concloods ; 
*we're  all  cap'ble  of  mistakes.  ]\Iy  name's  Clay  AlHson, 
an'  these  folks'll  know  me  better  by  an'  by.  When  they 
do  know  me,  an'  have  arrived  at  a  complete  onderstandin' 
of  my  pecooliarities,  they'll  walk  'round  me  hke  I  was  a 
swamp.'  " 

Following  this  introduction,  it  would  appear  that  Mr. 
Allison  was  taken  into  fellowsliip  by  Las  Animas.     The 


THE  INTUITIONS  OF  MR.  ALLISON    23^ 

crippled  foot  and  the  consequent  limp  were  lost  sight  of 
when  he  was  in  the  saddle.  When  he  was  afoot  they  went 
verbally  unnoticed,  since  it  was  liis  habit  to  use  a  Win- 
chester for  a  crutch. 

After  eight  weeks  in  Las  Animas,  Mr.  Allison  felt  as 
much  at  home  as  though  he  had  founded  the  town.  Also, 
he  became  nervously  sensitive  over  the  public  well-being, 
and,  mounted  on  a  milk-white  pony,  which  he  called  his 
*'wah  hoss,"  rode  into  open  court,  and  urged  that  con- 
vention of  justice,  then  sitting,  to  adjourn.  Mr.  Allison 
made  the  point  that  a  too  persistent  holding  of  court 
militated  against  a  popular  repose.  Inasmuch  as  he 
accompanied  his  opinions  with  the  crutch-Winchester 
aforesaid,  their  soundness  was  conceded  by  the  presiding 
judge.  The  judge,  as  he  ordered  an  adjournment,  said 
that  in  the  face  of  what  practical  arguments  were  pre- 
sented by  Mr.  Allison  he  was  driven  to  regard  the  whole 
theory  of  courts  as  at  best  but  academic. 

Later,  by  two  months,  Mr.  Allison  was  driven  to  slay 
the  Las  Animas  marshal.  In  this  adventure  he  again 
demonstrated  the  accurate  workings  of  his  mind.  The 
marshal,  just  before  he  drifted  into  the  infinite,  had 
emptied  the  right  barrel  of  a  Greener  10-gauge  into  Mr. 
Allison's  brother,  Jolm.  A  shotgun  has  two  barrels,  and 
the  jury  convoked  in  the  premises,  basing  decision  on 
that  second  barrel  and  arguing  from  all  the  circum- 


240  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

stances  that  the  late  officer  was  gunning  for  the  entire 
Allison  family,  gave  a  verdict  of  self-defence. 

Mr.  Allison  was  honourably  acquitted,  and  the  acquit- 
tal much  encouraged  his  belief  in  justice.  It  showed 
him  too  the  tolerant  spirit  of  Las  Animas,  and  he  dis- 
played his  appreciation  thereof  by  engaging  in  that 
rugged  Western  pastime  known  as  "Standing  the  Town 
on  Its  Head."  Indeed,  Mr.  Allison  made  the  bodily  re- 
versal of  Las  Animas  a  sacred  duty  to  be  performed 
twice  a  year;  but  since  he  invariably  pitched  upon 
Christmas  and  the  Fourth  of  July  for  these  pageantries, 
the  pubhc,  so  far  from  finding  invidious  fault,  was  in- 
clined to  join  with  him.  In  short,  so  much  were  Mr. 
Allison  and  Las  Animas  one  in  soul  and  sentiment,  that 
the  moment  they  had  conquered  the  complete  acquain- 
tance of  each  other  they — to'  employ  a  metaphor  of 
the  farms — "fell  together  like  a  shock  of  oats."  Mr. 
Allison  was  proud  of  Las  Animas,  while  Las  Animas 
looked  upon  Mr.  Allison  as  the  chief  jewel  in  its  crown. 

On  the  breath  of  admiration  some  waif-word  of  the 
hardy  deeds  of  Mr.  Allison  would  now  and  again  be 
wafted  down  the  river  to  Dodge.  Envious  ones,  who 
hated  Dodge  and  resented  its  high  repute  as  "a  camp 
that  was  never  treed,"  had  been  even  heard  to  prophesy 
that  Mr.  Allison  would  one  day  devote  a  leisure  hour  to 
subjecting  Dodge* to  those  processes  of  inversion  which 


THE  INTUITIONS  OF  MR.  ALLISON     241 

Las  Animas  had  enjoyed,  and  leave  its  hitherto  uncon- 
quered  heels  where  its  head  should  be.  These  inso- 
lent anticipations  would  wring  the  heart  of  Cimarron 
Bill. 

"You  can  hock  your  spurs  an'  pony,"  he  was  wont 
to  respond,  "that  if  Clay  ever  shakes  up  Dodge,  he'll 
shake  it  in  the  smoke." 

]\Ir.  Masterson,  when  the  threats  of  an  Allison  in- 
vasion were  brought  to  his  notice,  would  say  nothing. 
He  held  it  unbecoming  his  official  character  to  resent 
a  hypothesis,  and  base  declarations  of  war  on  an  assump- 
tion of  what  might  be. 

"It's  bad  policy,"  quoth  Mr.  Masterson,  "to  ford  a 
river  before  you  reach  it.  It'll  be  time  to  settle  what 
Dodge'll  do  with  Clay,  when  Clay  begins  to  do  things 
to  Dodge.  He'll  have  to  open  a  game,  however,  that  no 
one's  ever  heard  of,  if  Dodge  don't  get  better  than  an 
even  break." 

"Shore!"  coincided  Cimarron  Bill,  confidently.  "The 
idee,  because  Clay  can  bluff  'round  among  them  Las 
Animas  tarrapins  without  gettin'  called,  that  he  can  go 
dictatin'  terms  to  Dodge,  is  eediotlc.  He'd  be  too  dead 
to  skin  in  about  a  minute !  That's  straight ;  he  wouldn't 
last  as  long  as  a  drink  of  whiskey !" 

The  Ground  Owl  was  alone  In  the  breakfast  room  of 
the  Wright  House  when  INIr.  Allison  limped  In.    All  men 


242  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

have  their  dchcate  side,  and  it  was  Mr.  Allison's  to  re- 
gard the  open  wearing  of  one's  iron-mongery  as  bad 
form.  Wherefore,  he  was  accustomed  to  hide  the  Colt's 
pistols  wherewith  his  hips  were  decked,  beneath  the  tails 
of  a  clerical  black  coat.  Inasmuch  as  he  had  left  the 
crutch-Winchester  with  his  sombrero  at  the  hat-rack, 
even  an  alarmist  like  the  Ground  Owl  could  discover 
nothing  appalling  in  his  exterior.  The  halting  gait  and 
the  black  coat  made  for  a  harmless  impression  that  went 
far  to  unlock  the  derision  of  the  Ground  Owl.  He  treat- 
ed himself  to  an  evil  grin  as  ]Mr.  Allison  Hmped  to  a  seat 
opposite ;  but  since  Mr.  Allison  didn't  catch  the  malicious 
gleam  of  it,  the  grin  got  by  unchallenged. 

It  was  a  breakfast  custom  of  the  Wright  House  to 
provide  doughnuts  as  a  fashion  of  a  side-dish  whereat 
a  boarder  might  nibble  while  awaiting  the  baking-powder 
biscuit,  "salt  hoss,"  canned  tomatoes,  tinned  potatoes, 
coffee  and  condensed  milk  that  made  up  the  lawful  break- 
fast of  the  caravansary.  Las  Animas  being  devoid  of 
doughnuts,  Mr.  Allison  had  never  met  one.  Moved  by 
the  doughnut  example  of  the  Ground  Owl,  he  tasted  that 
delicac3\  The  doughnut  as  an  edible  proved  kindly  to 
the  palate  of  Mr.  Allison,  and  upon  experiment  he  de- 
sired more.  The  dish  had  been  drawn  over  to  the  elbow 
of  the  Ground  Owl,  and  was  out  of  his  reach.  Perceiv- 
ing this,  Mr.  Allison  pointed  with  appealing  finger. 


THE  INTUITIONS  OF  MR.  ALLISON     213 

"Pard,"  said  Mr.  Allison,  politely,  "please  pass  them 
fried  holes." 

"Fried  holes !"  cried  the  Ground  Owl,  going  off  into 
derisive  laughter.  "Fried  holes  !  Say  !  you  limp  in  your 
talk  like  you  do  in  your  walk !  Fried  holes !"  and  the 
Ground  Owl  again  burst  into  uninstructed  mirth. 

The  Ground  Owl's  glee  was  frost-bitten  in  the  bud. 
The  frost  that  nipped  it  was  induced  by  a  Colt's  pistol 
in  the  hand  of  Mr.  Allison,  the  chilling  muzzle  not  a  foot 
from  his  scared  face.  The  Ground  Owl's  veins  ran  ice ; 
he  choked  and  fell  back  in  his  helpless  chair.  Not  less 
formidable  than  the  Colt's  pistol  was  the  fury-twisted 
visage  of  Mr.  Allison. 

Even  in  his  terror  the  Ground  Owl  recalled  the  word 
of  Mr.  Masterson. 

"Don't  shoot,"  he  squeaked.    "I'm  unarmed !" 

For  one  hideous  moment  ]\Ir.  Allison  hesitated ;  it  was 
in  his  mind  to  violate  a  precedent,  and  slaughter  the 
gunless  Ground  Owl  where  he  sat.  But  his  instincts  and 
his  education  made  against  it;  he  jammed  his  weapon 
back  into  its  scabbard  with  the  terse  command: 

"Go  heel  yourse'f ,  you  bull-snake !  Dodge'll  have  you 
or  me  to  plant !" 

The  Ground  Owl  groped  his  frightened  way  to  the 
door.  A  moment  later  he  was  burrowing  deep  beneath 
a  stack  of  alfalfa  hay  in  ]\lr.  Trask's  corral,  and  it 


244.  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

would  have  been  necessary  to  set  fire  to  the  hay  to  find 
him.  Mr.  Allison  sat  glaring,  awaiting  the  Ground 
Owl's  return — which  he  never  doubted.  He  no  longer 
wanted  breakfast,  he  wanted  blood. 

Dodge  knew  nothing  of  these  ferocious  doings — the 
insult,  the  flight  of  the  Ground  Owl,  and  the  vicious 
waiting  of  Mr.  Allison.  The  first  news  of  it  that 
reached  Dodge  was  when  Mr.  Allison — rifle  in  its  saddle- 
scabbard,  six-shooters  at  his  belt — came  whooping  and 
spurring,  the  sublimation  of  warlike  defiance,  into  the 
town's  main  thoroughfare.  He  had  saddled  that  bronco 
within  twenty  feet  of  the  Ground  Owl,  shivering  beneath 
the  hay.  The  explosive  monologue  with  which  he  had 
accompanied  the  saddling,  and  wherein  he  promised 
a  host  of  bloody  experiences  to  the  Ground  Owl,  ren- 
dered that  recreant  as  cold  as  a  key  and  as  limp  as  a 
rag. 

After  a  mad  dash  up  and  down  the  street,  enlivened 
by  divers  war  shouts,  Mr.  Allison  pulled  up  in  front  of 
Mr.  Webster's  Alamo  Saloon.  Sitting  in  the  saddle,  he 
fiercely  demanded  the  Ground  Owl  at  the  hands  of  the 
public,  and  threatened  Dodge  with  extinction  in  case  he 
was  denied. 

Afl'airs  stood  thus  when  Jack  turned  INIr.  Masterson 
out  of  his  blankets.  The  soul  of  Jack  was  in  arms. 
It  would  have  broken  his  boy's  heart  had  Mr.  AlHson 


THE  INTUITIONS  OF  MR.  ALLISON     245 

flung  foii;}!  his  challenge  in  the  open  causeways  of 
Dodge  and  departed,  unaccommodated,  unrebuked,  to 
cheer  Las  Animas  with  a  recount  of  his  prowess. 

"That's  business !"  exulted  Jack,  as  the  double 
"cluck !"  of  jMr.  jMasterson's  buffalo  gun  broke  charm- 
ingly upon  his  ear.  "Send  daylight  plumb  through  him  ! 
Don't  let  him  go  back  to  Las  Animas  with  a  yarn  about 
how  Dodge  laid  down  to  him  !" 

It  was  the  first  impression  of  Mr.  JVJasterson  that  Mr. 
Allison's  purpose  was  to  merely  feed  his  self-love  by 
a  general  defiance  of  Dodge.  He  would  ride  and  shout 
and  shoot  and  disport  liimself  unlawfully.  In  this  he 
would  demonstrate  the  prostrate  sort  of  the  Dodgeian 
nerve. 

]\lr.  Masterson  was  clear  that  this  contumely  must  be 
checked.  It  would  never  do  to  let  word  drift  into  Texas 
that  Dodge  had  wilted.  Were  that  to  occur,  when  the 
boys  with  the  Autumn  herds  came  in,  never  a  mirror  in 
town  would  survive;  the  very  air  would  sing  and  buzz 
with  contemptuous  bullets.  Mr.  Masterson,  from  his  win- 
dow, came  carefully  down  on  INIr.  Allison  with  the  buf- 
falo gun ;  he  would  reprove  that  fatuous  egotist,  whose 
conceit  it  was  to  fancy  that  he  could  stand  up  Dodge. 

Mr.  Masterson  would  have  instantly  shot  Mr.  Allison 
from  the  saddle,  but  was  withstood  by  a  detail.  Mr. 
Allison's  six-shooters  were  still  in  his  belt;  his  Win- 


246  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Chester  was  still  in  its  scabbard  beneath  liis  leg.  These 
innocuous  conditions  constrained  Mr.  Masterson  to 
pause ;  he  must,  according  to  tlie  rule  in  such  case  made 
and  provided,  wait  until  a  weapon  was  in  the  overt  hand 
of  Air.  Allison. 

Mr.  Masterson  could  make  neither  head  nor  tail  of 
what  Air.  Allison  was  saying.  For  the  most  it  was  curse, 
and  threat,  coupled  with  pictures  of  what  terrific  punish- 
ments— to  cure  it  of  its  pride — Mr.  AlHson  would  pres- 
ently inflict  upon  Dodge.  This  being  all,  however,  Mr. 
Masterson  could  do  no  more  than  wait — being  at  pains, 
meanwhile,  to  see  the  oratorical  Air.  Allison  through 
both  sights  of  the  buffalo  gun.  When  ]Mr.  Allison 
snatched  a  pistol  from  liis  belt,  that  would  be  Air.  Alas- 
terson's  cue;  he  would  then  drill  him  for  the  good  of 
Dodge  and  the  instruction  of  Las  Animas. 

Having  the  business  wholly  in  hand,  it  was  next  the 
thought  of  Air.  Masterson  to  obviate  interference.  Ke 
turned  to  Jack: 

"Skip  out,  and  tell  Kell  and  Short  and  Cimarron  not 
to  run  in  on  Clay.  Tell  'em  I've  got  him  covered  and  to 
.  keep  away.  If  they  closed  in  on  him,  they  might  blank 
my  fire." 

When  Jack  was  gone.  Air.  Alasterson  again  settled 
to  his  aim,  picking  out  a  spot  under  the  right  shoulder 
of  Air.  Allison  wherein  to  plant  the  bullet. 


THE  INTUITIONS  OF  MR.  ALLISON     247 

"It's  where  I'd  plug  a  buffalo  bull,"  ruminated  Mr. 
Masterson,  "and  it  ought  to  do  for  Clay." 

Mr.  Allison  maintained  his  verbal  flow  unchecked.  He 
had  elocutionary  gifts,  had  Mr.  Allison,  and  flaunted 
them.  Mingling  scorn  with  reproach,  and  casting  de- 
fiance over  all,  he  spake  in  unmeasured  terms  of  Dodge 
and  its  inhabitants.  But  never  once  did  he  lay  hand  to 
gun ;  it  was  solely  an  exhibition  of  rhetoric. 

Mr.  Masterson  waxed  weary.  There  were  spaces  when 
the  mills  of  Mr.  Allison's  vituperation  ran  low ;  at 
such  intervals  Mr.  Masterson  would  take  the  buff'alo  gun 
from  his  shoulder.  Anon,  IVIr.  Allison's  choler  would 
mount,  his  threats  and  maledictions  against  all  things 
Dodgeian  would  soar.  Thereupon,  hope  would  relight 
its  taper  in  the  eye  of  Mr.  Masterson;  he  would  again 
cover  Mr.  Allison  with  his  buffalo  gun.  Mr.  Allison's 
energy  would  again  dwindle,  and  the  light  of  hope  again 
sink  low  in  the  INIasterscn  eye.  The  buffalo  gun  would 
be  given  another  recess.  First  and  last,  by  the  later 
word  of  Mr.  Masterson,  Mr.  Allison  was  covered  and  un- 
covered twenty  times.  It  was  exceedingly  fatiguing  to 
Mr.  IMasterson,  who  was  losing  respect  for  j\Ir.  Allison, 
as  one  all  talk  and  no  shoot. 

While  Mr.  Allison  vituperated,  his  glance  roved  up 
and  down  the  street. 

*'What's  the  matter  with  him !"  considered  Mr.  Mas- 


248  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

terson  disgustedly,  "Why  doesn't  he  throw  himself 
loose !" 

]\Ir.  Masterson's  disgust  became  amazement  when  Mr. 
Allison  turned  in  his  saddle,  and  asked  in  tones  wherein 
was  more  of  complaint  than  challenge : 

"Where's  Bat  Masterson?  He's  on  the  squar'!  He 
won't  let  no  cheap  store  clerk  put  it  all  over  me,  an'  get 
away!     Where's  Bat?" 

As  though  seeking  reply,  Mr.  Allison  In  a  most  pacific 
manner  got  down  from  the  saddle,  and  limped  away  out 
of  range  into  ]\Ir.  Webster's  Alamo. 

Mr.  Masterson  pitched  the  buffalo  gun  into  a  conicr, 
put  on  liis  more  personal  artillery,  and  repaired  to  the 
Alamo  with  the  thought  of  investigating  the  phenom- 
enon. In  the  Alamo  he  found  INIr.  Allison  asking  Mr. 
Webster — who  looked  a  bit  pale — to  send  for  IMr.  IMas- 
terson. 

"Have  somebody  round  Bat  up,"  said  Mr.  Allison, 
peevishly.  "Which  I  want  a  talk  with  him  about  my  in- 
juries." 

"What's  wrong.  Clay?"  asked,  Mr.  Masterson — out- 
wardly careless,  inwardly  as  alert  as  a  bobcat.  "What's 
gone  wrong?" 

"Is  that  you.  Bat?"  demanded  Mr.  Allison,  facing 
around  on  his  lame  foot.  "Wherever  have  you  been  for 
the  last  half  hour?    I've  hunted  you  all  over  camp." 


THE  INTUITIONS  OF  MR.  ALLISON     249 

*'Where  have  I  been  for  a  half  hour?  I've  been 
seesawing  on  you  with  a  Sharp's  for  the  better  part 
of  it." 

"Is  that  so!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Allison,  while  liis  face 
lighted  up  with  a  kind  of  pleased  conviction.  "Thar, 
d'ye  See  now !  While  I  was.  in  that  saddle  I  could  feel  I 
was  covered  every  moment.  It  was  the  sperits  tellin' 
me!  They  kept  warnin'  me  that  if  I  batted  an  eye  or 
wagged  a  year  I  was  a  goner.  It  was  shore  one  of  them 
prov'dential  hunches  which  is  told  of  by  gospel  sharps 
in  pra'r-meetin's." 

Mr.  Masterson's  indignation  was  extreme  when  he  had 
heard  the  story  of  ]Mr.  Allison's  ill  usage.  And  at  that, 
his  anger  rested  upon  the  wrongs  of  Dodge  rather  than 
upon  those  of  Mr.  Allison. 

"One  may  now  see,"  said  Mr.  Masterson,  "the  hole  into 
which  good  people  can  be  put.  by  a  cowardly  outcast  of 
the  Ground  Owl  type.  That  disgusting  Ground  Owl 
might  have  been  the  means  of  killing  a  dozen  men.  Here 
he  turns  in  an'  stirs  Clay  up ;  and  then,  when  he's  got 
him  keyed  to  concert  pitch,  he  sneaks  away  and  liides, 
and  leaves  us  with  Clay  on  our  hands !" 

Cimarron  Bill  came  into  the  Alamo ;  his  brow  turned 
dark  with  the  scandal  of  those  friendly  relations  between 
Mr.  Masterson  and  Mr.  Allison,  Avhich  he  saw  and  did 
not  understand.    Drawing  aside,  he  stood  moodily  at  the 


250  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

end  of  the  bar,  keeping  a  midnight  eye  the  while  on  Mr. 
AlHson,  thirsting  for  an  outbreak. 

Mr.  Masterson  approached  liim  craftily — being  dip- 
lomatic and  having  a  mind  to  preser^'e  the  peace. 

"There's  something  I  want  you  to  do,  Cimarron,"  said 
Mr.  Masterson,  easily.  The  other  brightened.  "No, 
not  that !"  continued  Mr.  Masterson,  intercepting  a  sav- 
age look  which  Cimarron  bestowed  upon  Mr.  AlHson, 
"not  Clay." 

"Who  then.'^"  demanded  Cimarron,  greatly  disap- 
pointed. 

"The  other  one,"  responded  ]Mr.  Masterson.  "Still  I 
don't  want  you  to  overplay.  You  must  use  judgment, 
and  while  careful  not  to  do  too  little,  be  equally  careful 
not  to  do  too  much.  This  is  the  proposition:  You  are 
to  go  romancing  'round  until  you  locate  that  miscreant 
Ground  Owl.  Once  located,  you  are  to  softl}"-,  yet  suffi- 
ciently, bend  a  gun  over  his  head." 

*'Leave  the  Ground  Owl  to  me,"  said  Cimarron  Bill, 
Hs  buo3''ant  nature  beginning  to  collect  itself.  As  he 
went  forth  upon  his  mission,  he  tossed  tliis  assurance 
over  his  shoulder:  "You  gents'll  hear  a  dog  howl  poco 
tempo,  an'  when  you  do  you  can  gamble  me  an'  that 
Ground  Owl  clerk  has  crossed  up  with  one  another." 

"That,"  obsei-ved  INIr.  Short,  who  arrived  in  time  to 
hear  the  commission  given  Cimarron  Bill,  "that's  what 


THE  INTUITIONS  OF  MR,  ALLISON     251 

I  call  gettin'  action  both  ways  from  the  jack.  You 
split  out  Cimarron  from  Clay  here ;  an'  at  the  same  time 
arrange  to  stampede  that  malignant  Ground  Owl  out  o' 
camp.  Wliich  I  always  allowed  you  had  a  head  for  busi- 
ness. Bat." 

Cimarron  Bill  was  wrong.  He  did  not  cut  the  trail 
of  the  vermin  Ground  Owl — lying  close  beneath  the 
alfalfa  of  IMr.  Trask !  Neither  did  any  dog  howl  that 
day.  But  Dodge  was  victorious  without.  It  was  rid  of 
the  offensive  Ground  Owl ;  when  the  sun  went  down  that 
craven  one  crept  forth,  and  fled  b}'^  cloak  of  night. 

*'Which  it  goes  to  show,"  explained  Cimarron  Bill, 
judgmatically,  when  a  week  later  he  was  recovered  from 
the  gloom  into  which  Mr.  Allison's  escape  had  plunged 
him,  "wliich  it  goes  to  show  that  every  cloud  has  a  silver 
linin'.  Clay  saves  himse'f ;  but  that  Ground  Owl  has  to 
go.  It's  a  stand-off.  We  lose  on  Clay;  but  we  shore 
win  on  that  Ground  Owl  man." 


CHAPTER    XL 
HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE. 

IN  the  old  golden  days,  gunshot  wounds  were  never 
over-soberlj  regarded  by  Dodge.  Mr.  Kelly,  be- 
ing creased  by  Rattlesnake  Sanders  and  discover- 
ing that  the  bullet  had  done  no  more  than  just  bore  its 
sullen  way  through  the  muscular  portion  of  his  shoul- 
der, came  to  look  upon  the  incident  as  trivial,  and  noth- 
ing beyond  a  technical  violation  of  his  rights.  He  gave 
his  word  to  that  effect ;  and  when  Rattlesnake — in  seclu- 
sion on  Bear  Creek — was  made  aware  of  that  word,  he 
returned  to  the  ranges  along  the  White  Woman,  and  re- 
began  a  cowboy  existence  where  his  flight  had  broken  it 
off.  Mr.  Kelly's  forbearance  was  approved  by  the  pub- 
lic, the  more  readily  since  Dodge  in  the  catholicity  of  its 
justice  believed  in  punishing  folk,  not  for  what  they 
did  but  for  what  they  were,  and  Rattlesnake  was  an 
estimable  youth. 

This  tolerant  breadth  was  wholly  of  the  olden  day, 

252 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     253 

and  has  not  come  down  to  modern  men.  Dodge  now 
lies  writhing  beneath  the  wheel  of  Eastern  convention. 
Starched  shirts  have  crept  in, derby  hats  have  done  their 
worst,  and  that  frank  fratemalism,  so  brightly  a  virtue 
of  the  heretofore,  has  disappeared.  To-day  the  sound 
)  of  a  six-shooter  in  the  timid  streets  of  Dodge  would  pro- 
duce a  shock,  and  whatever  gentleman  was  behind  that 
alarming  artillery  meet  the  fate  which  would  encounter 
him  under  similar  explosive  conditions  in  Philadelphia. 
California  is  the  proprietor  of  a  past,  and  in  moments 
of  sentiment  croons  of: 

The  days  of  old, 
The  days  of  gold, 
The  days  of  Forty-nine. 

Dodge  also  owns  a  day-that-was.  Its  memory  ap- 
peals often  and  fondly  to  an  hour  when  no  one  asked  a 
stranger's  name,  but  politely  reduced  curiosity  to  a  cau- 
tious "What  may  I  call  you?"  The  stranger  might 
have  been  "Bill  Jones"  in  the  faraway,  forgotten  East. 
He  could  now  become  "Jack  Robinson" ;  and  if  his  case 
presented  any  pergonal  argument  favourable  to  such 
change,  the  liberality  of  Dodge  not  alone  permitted  but 
invited  that  amendment.  The  stranger's  life  for  Dodge 
commenced  with  his  advent  in  its  friendly  midst  and  went 


254  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

no  further  back.  His  past,  with  all  that  to  him  apper- 
tained, had  fallen  from  him  as  fall  the  fetters  from  the 
bond  slave  when  once  he  sets  foot  upon  the  sacred  soil  of 
England.  Dodge  refused  to  be  involved  in  any  question 
of  what  that  stranger  had  done,  or  who  he  was.  It  re- 
ceived him,  trusted  him,  watched  him,  and  when  popular 
judgment  concerning  him  had  ripened,  it  either  ap- 
plauded or  lynched  him  as  circumstances  seemed  most 
to  invite. 

It  is  good  to  shut  one's  eyes  and  ruminate  upon  a  past. 
The  old  days  are  ever  golden,  and  for  those  of  Dodge 
this  should  be  their  portrait.  What  might  the  heart  of 
the  stranger  desire  that  they  do  not  offer  him?  If  he 
be  a-weary,  there  is  the  Wright  House  whereat  he  may 
repose  himself.  Does  he  crave  relaxation,  there  is  Mr. 
Peacock's  Dance  Hall,  called  sometimes  the  Bird  Cage, 
where  to  the  lively  observations  of  the  fiddle  he  shall 
loosen  the  boards  of  the  floor  until  refreshed.  At  all 
hours  of  the  night  the  master  of  ceremonies  is  to  be  heard 
above  the  subdued  muttering  of  exuberant  feet : 

*'Ally  man  left — all  sasshay !  Balance  to  yer  pod- 
ners — all  hands  'round !  Grand  right  an'  left — dozy  do ! 
Chaat  'n'  swing — right  arm  to  yer  podner !  All  prom'- 
nade  to  the  bar!" 

If  mere  trade  be  the  stranger's  purpose,  where  Is  that 
emporium  superior  to  Mr.  Wright's .?     Should  the  appe* 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     255 

tite  of  speculation  seize  him,  is  there  not  the  Alamo,  the 
Alhambra  and  the  Long  Branch?  From  those  latter 
clapboard  palaces  of  chance,  where  Fortune  holds  un- 
flagging court,  comes  the  inviting  soft  flutter  of  chips, 
punctuated  by  such  terse  announcements  from  roulette 
wheel  and  faro  table  as  "All's  set  an'  th'  ball's  rollin' !" 
or  "Ace  lose,  trey  win !"  Now  and  again  a  hush  de- 
scends while  through  the  blue  tobacco  smoke  two  sisters 
of  charity — looking  with  their  white  faces  and  black 
hoods  like  pale  pictures  set  in  jet — make  the  silent  round 
of  the  games,  seeking  aid  for  their  hospital  in  Santa  Fe. 
Each  courtier  of  Fortune  cashes  a  handful  of  chips,  and 
passes  the  proceeds  to  them  over  his  shoulder;  knowing 
that  should  sickness  lay  skeleton  hand  upon  liim  he  will 
be  welcome  at  their  merciful  gates. 

If  the  stranger  be  not  only  strange  but  tender — hav- 
ing just  made  his  appearance,  possibly,  on  some  belated 
"buckboard"  from  the  South,  where  he  has  been  tour- 
ing the  Panhandle  or  ransacking  the  ranges  with 
thoughts  of  buying  a  ranch — the  all-night  whirl  of 
Dodge  excites  his  wonder.  In  such  round-eyed  case,  he 
sets  forth  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  his  amazement 
to  Mr.  Short. 

"Aren't  you  open  rather  late.'"'  mildly  observes  the 
tender  stranger. 

"It  is  rather  late,"  responds  Mr.  Short,  with  an  eye 


256  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

of  tolerant  cynicism,  "it  is  rather  late  for  night  before 
last,  but  it's  jest  th'  shank  of  th'  evenin'  for  to-night." 

The  tender  stranger  makes  no  response,  for  his  facul- 
ties have  become  engaged  upon  an  ebullient  cowboy  who, 
with  unsteady  step,  swings  in  through  the  Long 
Branch's  open  door,  spurs  a- jingle,  wide  hat  set  at  an 
arrogant  slant, 

"I'm  Palo  Duro  Pete,"  the  invader  remarks.  "Which 
blood's  my  colour,  gents,  an'  I  kin  whip  my  weight  in 
wolves !" 

The  strain  on  the  tender  stranger's  nerves  is  redeemed 
by  Mr.  Short,  who  languidly  fells  Palo  Duro  Pete  with 
his  six-shooter.  The  strain  gains  additional  relief  when 
Palo  Duro  picks  himself  up  with  a  gratified  air,  and 
says: 

"Gents,  this  is  shorely  the  sociablest  crowd  I've  crossed 
up  with  as  yet.    Let's  libate !" 

In  a  daze  of  admiration  the  tender  stranger  "libates" 
with  Palo  Duro,  while  Mr.  Short  makes  a  careless  third. 
Mr.  Short  suggests  cigars  at  the  expense  of  the  Long 
Branch,  and  Palo  Duro,  after  lighting  one,  goes  jin- 
gling out  into  the  night  to  continue  his  happy  exploits 
at  the  Alamo  or  the  Alhambra. 

Those  old  days  are  golden  days!  True,  a  centipede 
now  and  then  makes  a  promenade  of  one's  slumbering 
countenance ;  or  a  stinging  lizard  employs  his  sting  upon 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     257 

one  with  all  of  the  burning  first  effects  that  attend  being 
shot  with  a  Colt's-45 ;  or  some  sleepy  rattlesnake  insinu- 
ates himself  into  one's  unbidden  blankets,  having  a  plan 
to  bunk  in  with  one  and  a  settled  resolve  to  give  battle 
if  refused  an  honest  half  of  the  bed.  But  these  adven- 
.  tures  overtake  one  only  in  hottest  summer  weather,  and 
this  seasonal  fact  so  narrows  interest  that  Dodge  seldom 
wears  them  on  its  mind. 

In  those  old  golden  days  Dodge  is  a  democracy.  Caste 
does  not  occur;  no  hill,  no  hollow  of  human  inequaHty 
ruffles  the  bland  surface  of  the  body  politic.  There  is 
but  one  aristocracy  and  that  is  the  aristocracy  of 
courage,  but  one  title  of  nobility  and  that  the  name  of 
"a  square  man." 

And  Dodge  can  exercise  forbearance.  Your  cowboy, 
uplifted  of  Old  Jordan,  may  ride  his  pony  through  the 
streets  and  spur  it  to  the  pace  of  meteors.  But  he  must 
not  ride  it  upon  the  sidewalks,  for  that  would  mean  insult 
to  the  dignity  and  defiance  of  the  power  of  Dodge.  He 
may  freely  empty  his  midnight  pistol,  so  that  he  empty 
it  at  the  moon.  But  he  must  not  enfilade  the  causeways  or 
turn  its  muzzle  upon  any  house  of  entertainment,  how- 
ever much  the  latter  has  offended.  In  brief,  he  may  wax 
either  vigorous  or  vociferous  to  what  pitch  best  suits  his 
fancy,  saving  this  that  his  vigours  and  vociferations 
must  not  be  transacted  at  the  public's  expense. 


258  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Dodge,  too,  takes  cognisance  of  an  impulse  and  con- 
strues a  motive.  When  Palo  Duro  Pete,  from  his  seat  in 
the  Dodge  Opera  House,  arises  in  a  torrent  of  tears, 
pulls  his  six-shooter  and  slams  away  at  Miss  Wither- 
spoon,  wliile  that  cantatrice  is  singing  "Home,  Sweet 
Home,"  Dodge  wholly  understands  the  sobbing,  shoot- 
ing Palo  Duro.  Had  he  ridden  away  on  another's  pony, 
or  sought  to  shift  the  title  to  a  mule  by  heating 
a  running  iron  £.nd  changing  its  brand.  Dodge  would  not 
have  attributed  the  act  to  any  excess  of  emotion.  It 
would  have  recognised  a  crime,  and  dealt  coldly  with 
Palo  Duro  as  with  a  criminal  taken  in  the  felon  fact. 
On  the  Opera  House  occasion,  however,  it  is  plain 
that  Palo  Duro  has  opened  upon  Miss  Witherspoon  in 
an  ecstasy  of  admiration.  The  shot  is  in  its  way  a  com- 
pliment, and  meant  for  the  exaltation  of  that  celebrated 
soprano.  The  weeping  Palo  Duro  is  moved,  not  of 
murderous  Impulse,  but  a  spirit  of  adoration  that 
can  only  explain  itself  with  a  gun.  Dodge  knows  this. 
Dodge  feels  it,  admits  it ;  and  since  Palo  Duro  works  no 
harm  with  his  testimonial.  Dodge  believes  it  has  fully 
corrected  him  when  it  drags  him  from  the  theatre,  and 
"buffaloes"  him  into  a  more  week-a-day  and  less  gala 
frame  of  mind. 

While  Dodge  is  capable  of  toleration,  it  can  also  draw 
the    line.     When    Mr.    Webster    accepts    a   customer's 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     259 

wooden  leg  as  security  for  drinks,  and  sets  the  pledge 
behind  the  Alamo  bar,  it  does  much  to  endanger  his 
standing.  Mr.  Webster  averts  a  scandal  only  by  return- 
ing the  wooden  leg;  and  at  that  Cimarron  Bill  has  al- 
ready given  his  opinion. 

*'Any  gent,"  observes  Cimarron  Bill,  "who'll  let  a 
Darty  hock  personal  fragments  of  himse'f  that  a-way 
for  licker,  is  onfit  to  drink  with  a  nigger  or  eat  with  a 
dog,"  and  Dodge  in  the  silence  with  which  it  receives 
this  announcement,  is  held  by  many  as  echoing  the  senti- 
ment expressed. 

Those  old  days  be  golden  days,  and  the  good  citizenry 
of  Dodge  are  at  their  generous  best.  And  this  is  the 
rule  of  conduct :  Should  you  go  broke,  everybody  comes 
to  your  rescue;  should  you  marry,  everybody  rejoices 
at  the  wedding;  should  a  child  be  born  unto  you  to  call 
you  "father,"  everybody  drinks  with  you ;  should  you 
fall  ill,  everybody  sits  up  with  you ;  should  you  die, 
everybody  comes  to  the  funeral — that  is,  everybody 
who  is  out  of  jail. 

Rattlesnake  Sanders,  forgiven  by  IVIr.  Kelly  and  re- 
stored to  his  rightful  art  of  cows  as  theretofore  prac- 
ticed by  him  along  the  White  Woman,  had  frequent 
flour,  bacon,  and  saleratus  reason  to  visit  Dodge.  Being 
in  Dodge,  he  dined,  supped  and  breakfasted  at  the 
Wright  House,  and  it  was  at  that  place  of  regale  he 


260  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

met  Miss  Bamdollar.  The  young  lady  was  a  waitress, 
and  her  intimates  called  her  "Calamity  Carry"  for  the 
crockery  that  she  broke.  Her  comings  in  and  going  out 
were  marked  of  many  a  crash,  as  a  consignment  of  dishes 
went  grandly  to  the  floor.  But  help  was  sparse  and  hard 
to  get,  and  the  Wright  House  management  overlooked 
these  mishaps,  hoping  that  IVIiss  Barndollar,  when  she 
had  enlarged  her  experience,  would  be  capable  of  better 
things. 

On  the  day  that  Rattlesnake  Sanders  first  belield  Miss 
Bamdollar,  he  came  into  the  dining-room  of  tlie 
Wright  House  seeking  recuperation  from  the  fatigues 
of  a  60-mile  ride.  When  he  had  drawn  his  chair  to 
the  table,  and  disposed  of  his  feet  so  that  the  spurs 
which  graced  his  heels  did  not  mutually  interfere.  Miss 
Barndollar  came  and  stood  at  his  shoulder. 

"Roast  beef,  b'iled  buffalo  tongue,  plover  potpie,  fried 
antelope  steak,  an'  baked  salt  hoss  an'  beans,"  observed 
Miss  Barndollar  is  a  dreamy  sing-song.  The  Wright 
House  did  not  print  its  menu,  and  the  bill  of  fare  was 
rehearsed  by  the  waitresses  to  the  wayfarer  within  its 
walls. 

At  the  sound  of  Miss  Barndollar's  voice.  Rattlesnake 
Sanders  looked  up.  He  made  no  other  response,  but 
seemed  to  drift  away  in  visions  born  of  a  contemplation 
of  the  graces  of  Miss  Barndollar. 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     261 

This  last  was  the  more  odd  since  Miss  Bamdollar,  in 
looks,  was  astray  from  any  picture  of  loveliness.  Per- 
haps Cimarron  Bill  when  later  he  discussed  with  Mr. 
Short  the  loves  of  Miss  Bamdollar  and  Rattlesnake  San- 
ders, fairly  set  forth  the  state  of  affairs. 

"Which  of  course,"  remarked  Cimarron  Bill,  gal- 
lantly cautious,  "thar  was  never  the  lady  born  I'd  call 
ugly ;  but  speakin'  of  this  Calamity  Carry,  I'm  driven 
to  remark  that  she  has  a  disadvantageous  face." 

With  Rattlesnake  Sanders  it  was  the  old,  old  story 
of  love  at  first  sight.  His  ideals  were  not  those  of  the 
critical  Cimarron  Bill,  and  he  beheld  with  different  eyes. 
In  those  high  cheekbones,  irregular  nose,  wide  mouth, 
and  freckled  face  he  discovered  charms.  Miss  Bam- 
dollar to  the  besotted  Rattlesnake  was  a  lamp  of  beauty. 
The  smitten  one  forgot  his  hunger,  forgot  the  list  of 
edibles  that  INIiss  Bamdollar  had  told  off,  and  sat 
tongue-tied. 

Life  is  replete  of  such  dulcet  mysteries — the  mystery 
of  Miss  Bamdollar's  ugliness  and  Rattlesnake  Sander's 
instant  love.  It  was  such  to  inspire  the  late  farmer  phil- 
osopher and  almanac  maker  when  he  musingly  related 
the  paradox : 

"They  do  say  Love  is  blind,  but  I'm  dinged  if  some 
fellers  can't  see  more  in  their  gals  than  I  can." 

Miss  Bamdollar,  waiting  to  be  instructed  as  to  the 


262  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

appetite  of  Rattlesnake  Sanders,  grew  impatient  with 
his  rapt  staring.     Slie  repeated  her  announcement : 

"Roast  beef,  b'iled  buffalo  tongue,  plover  potpie,  fried 
antelope  steak,  an'  baked  salt  hoss  an'  beans !" 

Sixty  seconds  later,  the  fatuous  Rattlesnake  still  si- 
lently staring,  Miss  Bamdollar  broke  a  bread-plate  on 
his  head  and  went  her  way. 

It  was  like  clenching  the  driven  nail — that  bread-plate 
episode.  The  jolt  to  his  faculties  crystallised  the  love  in 
Rattlesnake  which  before  had  been  in  solution,  and  he 
became  IMiss  Bamdollar's  slave. 

And  yet  it  is  no  more  than  justice  to  the  lady  to  ex- 
plain that  her  bread-plate  descent  upon  the  spellbound 
Rattlesnake  was  the  fruit  of  a  misunderstanding.  Being 
unaware  of  what  soft  sentiments  she  had  inspired.  Miss 
Barndollar  conceived  his  glances  to  have  been  bestowed 
upon  her  in  mockery.  This  was  shown  when  she  passed 
the  cashier  as  she  swept  from  the  room. 

"What  was  the  trouble,  Calamity.'"'  asked  the  cashier, 
who  had  witnessed  IMiss  Barndollar's  reproof,  without 
knowing  its  cause.    "What  did  that  jayhawker  do?" 

"Which  he  stared  at  me,"  replied  the  outraged  Miss 
Barndollar.  "I'll  teach  sech  horned  toads  that  if  my 
face  is  freckled,  I'm  a  lady  all  the  same." 

When  and  where  and  how  the  headlong  Rattlesnake 
found  time  and  place  to  woo  IMiss  Bamdollar  went  unex- 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     26S 

plained  to  Dodge.  Its  earliest  news  was  when  the  whis- 
per leaped  from  lip  to  lip  that  ]\Iiss  Barndollar  and  Rat- 
tlesnake were  to  wed. 

"Is  that  so,  Rattlesnake .?"  asked  Mr.  Short,  referring 
to  the  event  as  promised  by  gossip.  "Is  it  straight?  ; 
You'll  excuse  me.  Rattlesnake,  if  I  adds  that  I  hopes  an*  I 
trusts  it  is.  Dodge  wouldn't  stand  no  triflin'  with  the 
ontried  heart  of  Calamity,  an'  if  you-all  is  simply  flirtin* 
with  the  affections  of  that  pore  girl  I  wouldn't  fill  your 
moccasins  for  a  small  clay  farm." 

"Flirtin','*  retorted  the  scandalised  Rattlesnake. 
"Luke,  you  insults  me !  Calamity  an'  me  is  goin'  to  hook 
up  followin'  the  spring  round-up." 

After  making  this  declaration,  Rattlesnake,  in  a  kind 
of  ecstatic  hysteria  at  the  glowing  future  before  him, 
withdrew  to  a  corner  of  the  Long  Branch  and  lapsed  into 
a  dance  which  had  its  rise  with  the  Cheyennes,  and  was 
known  among  its  copper  coloured  authors  as  the  Love 
Dance  of  the  Catamounts. 

While  Rattlesnake  Sanders  was  thus  relieving  his  soul, 
Cimarron  Bill,  who  was  present,  regarded  his  mad  doings 
with  a  dubious  brow. 

"That  Rattlesnake  person's  locoed!"  said  Cimarron, 
turning  sadly  to  Mr.  Short.  "I  can't  read  signal 
smokes  an'  don't  know  the  meanin'  of  signs  if  that  mave- 
rick don't  wind  up  in  a  crazy  house,  cuttin'  paper  dolls." 


^Q4>  THE  SUXSET  TRAIL 

"He  ain't  locoed,"  explained  Mr.  Short,  with  a  confi- 
dence born  of  experiences  that  went  bej'ond  those  of 
Cimarron  Bill.  "That  Rattlesnake  boy  's  in  love.  They 
allers  ghost-dance  an'  go  pirootin'  'round  eediotic  that 
a-way." 

Cimarron  Bill  was  not  convinced,  and  took  later  oppor- 
tunity to  say  as  much  to  Mr.  Masterson.  He  urged  that 
the  nuptials  threatened  by  Miss  Barndollar  and  Rattle- 
snake Sanders  be  suppressed.  Cimarron  insisted  that  as 
Sheriff  of  Ford  it  was  Mr.  Masterson's  business  to  inter- 
fere, 

"Which  the  way  I  regyards  these  proceedin's,"  ex- 
plained Cimarron,  "they're  a  menace  to  the  peace  of 
Dodge.  Them  two  people'll  fight  worse'n  jNIcBride  an' 
Bridget  did.    You  ought  to  stop  'em,  Bat." 

"How'd  you  stop  'em.?"  returned  Mr.  Masterson. 
"You  can  stop  folks  shooting  one  another,  but  you  can 
no  more  stop  'em  marryin'  one  another  than  you  can  stop 
a  cyclone." 

"Just  the  same,"  said  Cimarron,  stubbornly,  "it's 
your  doot}"-  to  try." 

This  conversation  took  place  in  the  door  of  Mr.  Kelly's 
Alhambra.  While  Mr.  Masterson  and  the  gloomy 
Cimarron  were  talking,  Miss  Barndollar  and  Rattle- 
snake Sanders  came  down  the  street.  As  the  pair  arrived 
opposite  Mr.  Masterson  and  Cimarron,  the  infatuated 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     265 

Rattlesnake  jocosely  placed  his  arm  about  Miss  Barn- 
dollar's  waist.  Whereupon  that  virgin  co^'ly  bestowed 
upon  Rattlesnake  a  resounding  blow. 

"I'll  teach  ye !"  cried  Miss  Bamdollar,  meanwhile  giv- 
ing Rattlesnake  an  arch  look,  "I'll  teach  ye  whose  waist 
you're  tamperin'  with !  I'll  nacherally  swat  ye  ev'ry 
time  y'  do  it." 

*'Ain't  she  got  sperit !"  exclaimed  Rattlesnake,  wink- 
ing a  blissful  eye  at  jNIr.  Masterson.  "Thar's  nothin' 
Texas  about  her!  She's  due  to  grade  as  cornfed,  my 
Calamity  is,  or  I'm  a  shorthorn !" 

The  happy  pair  continued  onward  to  Mr.  Wright's 
store  and  set  about  pricing  pots  and  kettles  and  what 
other  bric-a-brac  may  become  the  basis  of  a  primitive 
housekeeping. 

"Thar !"  said  Cimarron  Bill,  decisively.  "You  can 
now  tell  how  that  eedlot  Rattlesnake  ain't  cap'ble  of 
se'f-protection.  It's  not  only  ag'in  your  oaths  of  office, 
but  it's  inhooman  not  to  interfere.  Before  them  two  has 
been  married  a  week,  that  Calamity  girl'll  far  into  pore 
Rattlesnake  with  her  ten  nails  an'  make  saddlestrings  of 
him." 

"That's  your  view,  Cimarron,"  retorted  Mr.  Master- 
son.  "Now  to  my  mind  Rattlesnake  and  Calamity'll 
get  along  as  peaceful  as  two  pups  in  a  basket.  Be- 
sides,  speaking  of  public   interest,  do  you   know   how 


^66  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

many  inhabitants  Dodge  has  lost  during  the  official 
year?" 

"No,"  said  Cimarron  Bill,  "I  don't.  But  whatever  has 
that  got  to  do  with  Calamity  ropin'  up  this  yere  in- 
nocent Rattlesnake?" 

"There  were  seven  to  get  bumped  off,"  continued  Mr. 
Masterson,  disregarding  the  question,  "exclusive  of  Mc- 
Bride's  Bridget.  Seven  ;  and  I  don't  count  Mexicans  and 
non-resident  cowboys  who  came  in  with  the  herds  and  ex- 
pired in  the  natural  course  of  festivals  which  they,  them- 
selves, inaugurated.  Seven !  That's  knocking  a  hole  in 
Dodge's  census." 

"But  wln^,'^  protested  the  honest  Cimarron,  "should 
you-all  punish  Rattlesnake  for  that?  He  don't  down  any 
of  them  seven.  He's  pulled  his  gun  jest  once  this  year, 
an'  then  he  only  busts  the  crust  on  Kell,  an'  no  harm 
done." 

"No  harm!"  interjected  IMr.  Masterson,  severely. 

"VV^hatever  was  the  harm?"  retorted  the  obstinate 
Cimarron.  "Kell's  inside  thar  runnin'  liis  joint,  ain't  he? 
Besides  the  fault  was  Kell's.  Rattlesnake  rings  in  a  cold 
hand  on  Kell,  as  a  gent  every  now  an'  then  will,  an*  Kell 
taunts  him  about  it.  If  Kell's  goin'  to  comment  on  a 
cold  hand  he'd  ought  to  do  it  with  his  six-shooter.  To  go 
tantalisin'  Rattlesnake  about  it  with  his  mouth  that 
a-way,  makes  what  I  calls  a  case  of  crim'nal  carelessness, 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     267 

an'  leaves  Kell  responsible.  But  whether  it  does  or  not, 
why  rooin  Rattlesnake's  life  with  this  Calamity  lady  be- 
cause of  them  other  seven?  Thar's  neither  jestice  nor 
reason  in  it." 

"Cimarron,"  replied  Mr.  Masterson,  disgustedly, 
"you're  forever  roping  at  the  wrong  steer.  There's  no 
ruin  in  the  business.  This  is  the  idea:  We  lose  seven. 
Now  when  Rattlesnake  and  Calamity  are  married,  they 
may  do  sometliing  to  repair  our  loss.  If  they  were  to 
jump  in  and  have  seven  children,  that  would  make  it  an 
even  break,  wouldn't  it.'*" 

*'Still,"  contended  Cimarron  Bill,  "I  don't  see  why  the 
losses  of  Dodge  should  be  saddled  onto  Rattlesnake.  It 
ain't  right  to  heap  burdens  on  him  that,  properly  re- 
gyarded,  belongs  to  the  commO'Onit3^" 

"Well,"  observed  ]\Ir.  Masterson,  turning  on  his  heel 
for  a  stroll  down  the  street,  "I  won't  dispute  all  day  with 
you.  Rattlesnake's  of  full  age,  free,  and  half  white, 
and  if  he  wants  to  wed  Calamity  it's  his  American  privi- 
lege." 

"Which  you  could  say  the  same,"  returned  Cimarron 
Bill,  "if  Rattlesnake  was  aimin'  at  sooicide." 

It  is  to  be  supposed  that  Miss  Barndollar  and  Rattle- 
snake Sanders  would  have  drifted  quietly  and  unevent- 
fully to  the  altar  had  it  not  been  for  the  intervention  of 
an  accident.    Rattlesnake  was  aidin<i  Mr.  Trask  in  cut- 


268  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

ting  out  a  particular  mule  from  the  bunch  in  his  cor- 
rals. His  pon}-,  slipping  with  its  unshod  hoofs,  fell  and 
in  falling  broke  Rattlesnake's  left  leg — both  bones — be- 
low the  knee. 

There  was  no  resident  surgeon  in  Dodge.  There  had 
been ;  but  an  Eastern  past  having  found  him  out,  he  van- 
ished between  sun  and  sun.  In  the  emergency  presented 
by  Rattlesnake's  fractured  leg  a  surgeon  was  summoned 
from  Cimarron. 

The  Cimarron  practitioner  was  a  young,  sappy,  cal- 
low, pinefeather  form  of  scientist,  excessively  in  the 
springtime  of  his  career,  and  no  one  to  excite  confidence. 
Rattlesnake  Sanders  debated  him  with  distrustful  eye, 
but,  since  nothing  better  presented,  was  fain  to  sur- 
render to  him  his  broken  leg.  The  sappy  one  set  the 
leg  and  withdrew,  programming  a  call  for  the  next 
day. 

Everything,  according  to  Cimarron  Bill  who  came 
upon  the  scene  an  hour  after  the  sappy  one  departed, 
was  wrong  about  that  leg-setting.  The  bandage  was  an 
error,  the  splints  were  a  crime.  Their  plain  effect  was  to 
torture  the  stricken  Rattlesnake.  The  views  of  Rattle- 
snake fell  in  with  those  of  Cimarron  Bill.  Between 
groans  and  maledictions,  heaped  upon  the  sappy  one, 
he  wholly  agreed  with  him. 

The  pair  were  alone  at  the  moment,  and  acting  in  con- 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     269 

cert  they  removed  the  oifending  bandages  and  splints. 
Giving  the  patient  a  bottle  of  arnica  wherewith  to  tem- 
porarily console  liis  aches,  Cimarron,  with  a  fine  con- 
ceit of  liis  powers  that  commonly  would  have  challenged 
^  admiration,  walked  over  to  the  carpenter  shop  in  Mr. 
,  Trask's  corral,  and  fashioned  new  splints  after  original 
designs  of  liis  own.  Then,  with  the  help  of  Rattlesnake, 
he  re-set  the  leg  and  restored  the  bandages  as  seemed  to 
him  best  and  mete.  Following  these  deeds  the  worthy 
Cimarron  and  his  patient  took  a  drink,  looked  upon  their 
work,  and  pronounced  it  good. 

Those  feats  in  medicine  and  surgery  were  performed 
in  an  upper  chamber  of  the  Wright  House  which  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment  had  been  set  aside  as  a  hospital  in 
the  interests  of  Rattlesnake  Sanders.  The  first  to  leani 
of  them,  beyond  the  two  therein  engaged,  was  Miss  Barn- 
dollar.  She  had  been  with  her  beloved  Rattlesnake  while 
the  lawful  sappy  one  was  busy  about  his  repaii*s.  Com- 
ing again  into  the  room  following  the  exploits  of  Cimar- 
ron Bill,  her  glance  of  love  was  sharp  to  mark  the 
change. 

"Whatever's  up.'"'  asked  the  wondering  Miss  Barn- 
dollar. 

"Nothin's  up,"  replied  Rattlesnake.  "Only  me  an* 
Cimarron,  not  approvin'  of  them  malpractices  of 
that  jacklaig  doctor,  has  had  a  new  deal.     An'  that  re- 


270  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

minds  me,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Cimarron,  who  was 
surveying  the  bandaged  result  with  a  satisfied  air ;  "give 
me  my  pistol.  I'll  keep  it  in  bed  with  me  a  whole  lot,  an' 
when  that  igneramus  comes  chargin'  in  to-morry  momin* 
I'll  stand  him  off." 

"But  you  mustn't  shoot,"  warned  Cimarron,  as  he 
brought  the  weapon.  "When  he  shows  up,  tell  him  to 
pull  his  freight.  An'  if  he  hesitates,  sort  o'  take  to 
menacin'  at  him  with  the  gun.  But  don't  shoot  none; 
Bat's  gettin'  that  partic'ler  he  wouldn't  stand  it." 

The  composed  manners  of  both  Rattlesnake  and 
Cimarron  worked  upon  the  credulity  of  jNIiss  Barndollar. 
In  the  face  of  so  much  confidence  it  was  difficult  to 
doubt.  Still,  she  cross-questioned  Cimarron  when  she 
found  him  alone  on  the  Wright  House  porch. 

"Be  you  shore,"  she  asked,  "that  Rattlesnake's  laig 
'11  come  right?  Wliich  if  it's  out  o'  plumb  when  he's 
cured,  I'll  shorely  make  you  hard  to  find!" 

"Rattlesnake's  laig,"  returned  Cimarron,  reassur- 
ingly, "will  ecmerge  from  them  splints  as  straight  as 
Luke  Short's  deal  box,  an'  said  implement  of  faro- 
bank  has  allers  been  reckoned  the  straightest  thing  in 
town.  You  need  give  yoursel'f  no  oneasiness,  Calam- 
ity." 

*'Which  I'll  take  your  word,"  responded  I\Iiss  Barn- 
dollar.     "But  if  that  laig  ain't  all  that  heart  could  wish, 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     271 

I'll  keep  you   plenty  oneasy  for  the  balance  of  your 
days !" 

Mr.  Masterson,  when  given  word  of  the  matter,  was 
somewhat  troubled  by  Cimarron's  unlocked  for  debut  in 
the  field  of  surgery.  Like  Miss  Bamdollar,  Mr.  Master- 
son  asked  questions. 

"Did  you  ever  set  anybody's  leg  before?"  he  inquired. 

*'DId  I  ever  set  any  sport's  laigs  before!"  retorted 
Cimarron  Bill,  with  a  yawn  of  careless  indifference.  "I've 
set  twenty  cows'  laigs,  an'  what's  the  difference?  Thar's 
nothin'  to  the  play.  It's  as  easy  as  fittin'  together  the 
two  ends  of  a  broken  stick,  with  j'our  eyes  shet.  Of 
course  them  doctor  sharps  raise  the  long  yell  about  it 
bein'  difficult,  aimin'  tharby  to  bluff  you  out  o'  your 
bankroll." 

Upon  his  arrival  next  day,  the  sappy  one  was  much 
confounded  to  find  his  patient  propped  up  in  bed,  smok- 
ing a  bad  cigar.  His  confusion  was  increased  when  the 
patient  drew  a  Colt's-45  from  beneath  the  blankets,  sur- 
veying him  the  while  with  a  loathely  scowl.  The  sappy 
one  thought  that  Rattlesnake  Sanders  had  added  insan- 
'  ity  to  a  broken  leg.  This  theory  was  strengthened  when 
the  forbidding  Rattlesnake  waved  him  from  the  room 
with  his  weapon.  The  sappy  one  went ;  he  said  that  he 
loved  his  art,  but  not  well  enough  to  attempt  its  practice 
within  point-blank  range  of  a  hostile  six-shooter. 


S72  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

When  the  sappy  one  found  himself  again  in  the  street, 
Jack;  who,  although  the  Weeldy  Planet  had  been  dead  for 
months,  was  still  beset  of  all  the  instincts  of  a  news- 
maker, laid  bare  to  him  the  interference  of  Cimarron  Bill 
in  the  affairs  of  that  fractured  \q^.  The  sappy  one 
waxed  exceedingly  bitter,  and  spoke  freely  of  Cimarron 
Bill. 

*'He  called  you  an  empiric,"  said  Jack,  relating  the 
strictures  of  the  sappy  one  to  Cimarron  an  hour  later. 

"A  what?" 

"An  empiric." 

"Spell  it,"  and  Cimarron  drew  a  deep,  resentful 
breath. 

"E-m-p-i-r-i-c." 

"Whatever  does  it  mean?" 

"It  means  a  four-flush,"  said  Jack,  who  was  liberal  in 
definitions. 

"I  won't  shoot  him,"  observed  Cimarron,  after  a 
profound  pause;  "no  I  won't  spring  no  gun  on  him,  for 
that  might  prove  disturbin'  to  the  public  peace.  Which 
I'll  merely  burn  him  at  the  stake." 

The  sappy  one  was  miles  away  from  Dodge  when  these 
flame  and  fagot  threats  were  formulated ;  and  as  he  took 
pains  to  remain  away  thereafter,  he  gave  Cimarron  Bill 
scant  chance  to  execute  them.  At  long  range,  however, 
he  continued  to  make  his  malignant  influence  felt.     He 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     273 

sent  for  Miss  Barndollar  and  told  her  that  Rattle- 
snake's one  remaining  hope  was  to  have  that  misman- 
aged leg  re-broken  and  re-set.  Failing  these  measures, 
the  sappy  one  gave  it  as  his  professional  opinion  that 
the  leg  would  look  like  an  interrogation  point.  As 
an  upcome,  Miss  Baradollar  came  back  weeping  to 
Dodge. 

"But  the  laig's  O.  K.,"  remonstrated  Rattlesnake 
Sanders,  when  Miss  Barndollar  unfurled  to  him  the  sap- 
py one's  predictions.  "It's  comin'  round  as  solid  as  a 
sod  house." 

"But  you'll  do  it  to  please  me,  Rattlesnake,"  coaxed 
Miss  Barndollar.  "I'm  a  proud  girl,  an'  I  don't  want  to 
wed  no  gent  with  a  laig  like  a  corkscrew." 

Rattlesnake  was  shaken  by  the  tender  persistency  of 
Miss  Barndollar.  However,  he  said  that  he  must  see 
Cimarron  Bill. 

"What  do  3'ou  think  yourse'f ,  Cimarron  ?"  asked  Rat- 
tlesnake earnestly,  when  the  worthy  Cimarron  had  been 
rounded  up  by  Jack  for  the  conference. 

"That  limb,"  obsei'ved  Cimarron,  judgmatically,  and 
cocking  a  wise  eye  like  a  crow  looking  into  a  jug, 
"that  limb,  as  framed  up,  is  a  credit  to  us  both.  It's 
simply  aces  before  the  draw !     Don't  tech  it." 

"But  Calamity  allows  she'll  throw  me  down  about 
that  weddin'." 


274  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Miss  Barndollar  was  not  in  the  room,  and  Cimarr<Hi 
took  on  a  look  of  grim  cunning. 

"Ev'ry  cloud  has  a  silver  linin',"  remarked  Cimarron, 
enigmaticfilly.  "Rattlesnake,  tliis  j^ere  will  turn  out  tlie 
luckiest  laig  you  ever  had." 

Following  these  foggy  announcements,  Cimarron 
said  that  it  would  be  a  point  of  honour  with  him  to  pre- 
vent any  intromission  with  the  leg  of  Rattlesnake  San- 
ders. 

"This  offensive  sawbones,"  he  explained,  "public- 
ally  allooded  to  me  as  a  empirick.  In  so  doin'  he 
compels  me  to  go  through  the  way  I'm  headed.  I  shall 
consider  any  attempt  to  break  that  laig  again  as  an  at- 
tack upon  my  character,  an'  conduct  mj'se'f  accordin' 
with  a  gun." 

"That  sounds  on  the  level,"  observed  Rattlesnake  to 
Miss  Barndollar,  who  had  come  into  the  room  in  time 
to  hear  the  ultimatum  of  Cimarron.  "For  us  to  go 
tamperin'  with  this  yere  member  that  a-way,  would  be 
equiv'lent  to  castin'  aspersions  on  Cimarron." 

"You  never  loved  me !"  murmured  Miss  Barndollar, 
beginning  to  cry. 

"Calamity !"  exclaimed  Rattlesnake,  reproachfully. 
**You're  my  soul !" 

**An'  y^et,"  she  sobbed,  rocking  herself  in  her  chair^ 
"you  ref ooses  my  least  request !    Is  it  love  to  ast  me  to 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     275 

go  through  life  as  the  wife  of  a  party  with  a  game 
laig?" 

"But  Calamity !" 

"I  knows  gents  who'd  break  their  hearts  for  me,  let 
alone  their  laigs !" 

Rattlesnake  looked  appealingly  at  Cimarron,  who  was 
bearing  himself  with  studied  dignity. 

"Which  you'll  nacherally  thank  me  a  heap  for  this 
some  day !"  said  Cimarron,  repl^'ing  to  the  look. 

"Calamity,"  cooed  Rattlesnake,  "let  me  have  a  word 
alone  with  Cimarron." 

"You-all  can  have  what  words  you  please,"  snorted 
Miss  Barndollar,  beginning  to  dry  her  indignant  eyes, 
"you  can  have  what  words  you  please  with  this  person. 
But  I  wants  to  saw  it  off  on  you  right  3'ere,  Rattlesnake 
Sanders,  that  no  lady  would  be  jestified  in  entrustin'  her 
footure  to  a  gent  who'd  go  argufyin'  an'  h'ar-splittin' 
about  a  triflin'  matter  like  this.  You'll  either  get  that 
laig  fixed,  or  our  engagement's  at  an  end.  Yes,  sir," 
concluded  ]\Iiss  Barndollar  in  a  sudden  gust  of  temper, 
*'it's  no  longer  a  laig.  Which  it's  now  ceased  to  be  a 
laig  and  become  a  principle,"  and  Miss  Barndollar  1 
flounced  from  the  room. 

"The  first  day  I  can  ride,"  groaned  Rattlesnake,  "I'll 
shore  descend  upon  that  sawbones  all  spraddled  out,  an' 
obtain  a  spec'men  of  his  h'ar !" 


276  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Calming  himself,  Rattlesnake  discoursed  sagely  and 
at  length  with  Cimarron,  saying  that  he  was  in  favour 
of  yielding  to  the  demands  of  Miss  Bamdollar.  The 
leg  could  easily  be  rebroken.  Both  he  and  Cimarron 
would  of  course  understand  that  it  did  not  require  such 
treatment.  They  M^ould  agree  that  it  was  simply  a  con- 
cession to  Miss  BarndoUar,  and  not  to  be  held  as  re- 
flecting on  Cimarron. 

"Because,  d'ye  see,"  said  Rattlesnake,  "take  it  every 
way  from  the  jack,  I  wouldn't  miss  marryin'  Calam- 
ity if  it  meant  breakin'  a  dozen  laigs.  I  tliink  we'd 
better  let  her  have  her  way,  Cimarron.  You  don't  know 
girls  Hke  I  do ;  but  the  fact  is,  you  allers  want  to  humour 
'em  in  little  things  so's  to  have  your  own  way  in  big  ones. 
You  call  her  in,  Cimarron,  an'  tell  her  she's  plumb  right 
about  this  fool  laig." 

In  the  teeth  of  this  specious  argument,  Cimarron 
still  persisted  with  his  objections.  He  said  that  the  at- 
titude of  Miss  Bamdollar  was  born  of  vanity.  He  point- 
ed out  that  the  much  debated  leg  was  as  straight  as  a 
gun  barrel.  He  re-told  the  insult  put  upon  himself  in 
the  epithet  of  empiric.  Constantly,  he  hinted  that  un- 
told good  lay  behind  his  present  obstinacy,  and  that  Rat- 
tlesnake would  admit  his  gratitude  therefore  in  daj^s  to 
come.  He  closed  by  suggesting  that  they  send  for  Mr, 
Masterson. 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     27T 

With  a  talent  for  compromise,  and  prone  to  middle 
paths,  Mr.  Masterson  believed  that,  inasmuch  as  a  fort- 
night had  already  elapsed,  Miss  Barndollar  ought  not  to 
object  to  the  leg  continuing  as  it  then  was.  Rattlesnake 
Sanders  would  give  his  promise  to  have  the  leg  instantly 
refractured  in  event  of  any  final  queemess. 

Upon  this  proposal  being  carried  to  Miss  Barndollar 
by  Jack,  who  was  delegated  to  the  trust  by  Rattle- 
snake and  Mr.  Masterson,  she  called  that  youth  a  "cub 
prairie  dog"  and  demanded  his  authority  for  meddling 
with  two  throbbing  hearts.  Jack,  deeply  chagrined,  pled 
the  commission  of  Rattlesnake  and  Mr.  Masterson. 
Miss  Barndollar  wept,  and  Jack,  being  mercurial  and 
a  child  of  active  sympathies,  wept  with  her.  In  the 
end  Miss  Barndollar  dried  her  eyes,  kissed  Jack  and  bid 
him  return  to  the  callous  Rattlesnake  and  say  that  she 
had  cast  him  out  of  her  heart  forever. 

"Tell  him,"  said  Miss  Barndollar,  "that  he  has  shown 
himse'f  keerless  of  my  feehn's  an'  I'm  mighty  lucky  to 
be  saved  in  time." 

Cimarron  Bill  wore  a  brow  of  cloudy  victory  when 
Jack  made  his  report,  while  Rattlesnake  Sanders  swore  ^ 
in  a  discouraged  way.  As  for  Mr.  Masterson,  he  coun- 
seled Rattlesnake  to  be  of  cheer,  and  gave  it  as  his  belief 
that  Miss  Barndollar  would  come  back  to  his  arms  in 
time.     Mr.  Masterson  was  on  the  brink  of  basing  this 


278  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

conclusion  on  the  fact  that  Miss  Barndollar  would  not 
be  able  to  find  another  who  would  have  her,  but  caught 
himself  on  the  verge.  He  said  instead  that  she  was  only 
testing  Rattlesnake's  love. 

"Just  let  everything  go  as  it  lays,"  concluded  Mr. 
INIasterson,  consolingly,  "and  when  you  are  out  and 
around  again,  it's  two  for  one  that  you  and  Calaraity'll 
be  like  turtledoves." 

Rattlesnake  said  he  hoped  so,  while  Cimarron  shook 
his  head. 

"That's  the  luckiest  laig  you  ever  broke,  Rattlesnake," 
was  the  mysterious  remark  of  Cimarron  as  the  con^ 
ference  adjourned. 

Rattlesnake  Sanders,  being  recovered,  invited  the 
judgment  of  Mr.  Masterson  concerning  his  legs. 

"What  I  wants,"  explained  Rattlesnake,  "is  an  opin- 
ion at  once  onprejewdyced  an'  offishul,  an'  nacherally 
T  asts  Bat." 

Mr.  Masterson,  after  a  most  critical  survey  of  Rattle- 
snake from,  as  he  himself  expressed  it,  "foretop  of 
fetlock,"  gave  his  honour  for  it  that  nothing  showed 
amiss. 

''Your  leg,"  said  Mr.  Masterson,  "is  as  straight  as  it 
ivev  was." 

"Straighter,"  chimed  in  the  confident  Cimarron,  who 
stood  at  his  elbow.     "Rattlesnake's  laigs,  on  account  of 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     279 

bein'  frequent  storm-soaked  about  the  herds  an'  then 
dried  preematoorly  by  camp  fires,  was  a  heap  warped. 
Now  they're  as  par'Uel  as  two  fiddle  strings.  I  ain't 
the  gent  to  say  it,  seein'  I  set  that  fracture  myse'f, 
but  it's  my  \'iew  Rattlesnake's  laigs  quits  winner  on  the 
deal." 

These  assurances  gave  mighty  satisfaction  to  Rattle- 
snake Sanders.  So  much  set  up  by  them  was  he,  that  he 
sought  a  meeting  with  Miss  Barndollar,  meditating  in 
her  shell-like  ear  a  loving  word.  The  lady  was  in  the 
Wright  House  kitchen,  and  obser\ang  her  lover's  ap- 
proach made  haste  to  slam  and  bolt  the  door  in  his 
adoring  face.  Sinking  under  tliis  rebuff.  Rattlesnake 
M'ithdrew  to  the  Alhambra,  and  became  grievously  drunk. 

The  next  day,  Rattlesnake  Sanders  again  attempted 
converse  with  his  obdurate  sweetheart  as  she  was  coming 
from  Mr.  Wright's  store.  She  repelled  him  with  double 
scorn. 

"Not  bein'  desirous,"  observed  Miss  Barndollar  on 
this  withering  occasion,  "of  the  attentions  of  no  sech 
tarripin  as  you,  I  forbids  you  speakin'  to  me  now  or 
yereafter." 

It  is  to  be  supposed  that  a  deal  of  Miss  Bamdollar's 
hardness  was  the  growth  of  pique.  Now  that  the  un- 
reasonable character  of  her  surgical  demands  had  been 
demonstrated,  her  resentment  was  multiplied.     Also,  be- 


280  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

cause  of  this  second  effort  at  an  interview,  she  com- 
plained to  Mr.  Masterson. 

"Be  you  Sheriff  of  Ford  I'd  like  for  to  ast?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"Why?"  asked  Mr.  Masterson,  humble  but  defensive. 
jMr.  Masterson  owTied  a  hare's  heart  where  a  woman 
was  concerned,  and  his  Instinct  was  for  the  fugitive 
and  the  non-committal.  Wherefore  he  put  the  query, 
being  heedful  to  throw  into  his  tone  a  propitating  quaver 
of  apology:    "Why.?    What's  fetched  loose.?" 

"Nothin',"  returned  Miss  Banidollar,  in  her  most  icy 
manner,  "only  I  dee-mands  protection  from  that  profli- 
gate." Here  slie  pointed  a  chilling  finger  at  the  forlorn 
Rattlesnake  who,  with  head  bowed  and  in  an  attitude  of 
deepest  dejection,  stood  leaning  in  the  Long  Branch  door. 

"Who,  Rattlesnake.?"  returned  Mr.  Masterson,  with 
a  gentle  purpose  of  reconciliation.  "Why,  he  dotes  on 
you !    He  loves  you  like  a  prairie  fire." 

"Which  the  love,"  said  Miss  Bamdollar,  with  a  sud- 
den vehemence  that  sent  shafts  of  terror  to  the  soul  of 
Mr.  Masterson,  "of  sech  miscreants  Is  the  worst  outrage 
they  can  commit.  I'm  a  weak  female,  an'  I  dee-mands 
protection.  Likewise,  you'd  better  give  it  to  me,  Bat 
Masterson,  or  I'll  lay  up  trouble  for  3'our  gray  ha'rs." 

"Taking  her  up  one  side  and  down  the  other.  Rattle- 
snake," observed  Mr.  Masterson,  in  the  confab  which  in 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     281 

deference  to  the  threats  of  Miss  Barndollar  he  deemed 
it  wise  to  hold  with  that  young  man,  "my  notion  is  that 
you'd  better  hit  the  trail  for  the  White  Woman,  an'  give 
Calamity  a  chance  to  cool.  She's  a  whole  lot  heated  just 
now,  but  most  likely  in  a  month,  or  may  be  in  two,  it'll 
be  safe  to  say  'Howdy !'  to  her,  and  bid  her  the  time  of 
day." 

"Then  you'd  give  her  up?"  asked  the  mournful  Rat- 
tlesnake. 

"Only  for  a  spell,"  replied  Mr.  Masterson,  cheerfully. 
"But  you  see  yourself  there's  nothing  to  be  gained  by 
hankering  'round  her  at  this  time.  The  way  she  feels 
you  couldn't  get  near  enough  to  her  to  hand  her  a  ripe 
peach.  Later,  it'll  be  different,  and  I  shall  hope  to  shake 
a  moccasin  at  your  wedding." 

Rattlesnake  mused  a  moment,  and  then  broke  forth 
with  unexpected  spirit. 

"Which  I'U  take  your  steer.  Bat.  Also,  it's  the  last 
I'll  have  to  do  with  that  Calamity.  I  shore  should  not  re- 
gret surrenderin'  a  lady  so  narrow  as  to  hold  that  the 
only  evidence  a  gent  can  give  of  his  affection  is  to  go 
about  cripplin'  himse'f  promiscus." 

"Now  don't  come  to  any  rash  decisions,"  urged  the 
prudent  Mr.  Masterson.  "Dodge  wants  those  nuptials 
to  come  off,  and  if  you'll  give  Calamity  time  to  round  on 
herself,  they  will.     She's  only  a  bit  peevish  with  you  for 


582  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

getting  well,  but  that'll  fade  away.  You  go  back  to 
jour  cattle,  Rattlesnake,  and  leave  me  to  ride  herd  on 
Calamity.  The  moment  she  begins  to  melt  I'll  send  you 
word." 

It  has  been  the  puzzle  of  every  age  that  woman,  with 
her  infinite  superiority  over  man  in  all  that  Is  morally, 
mentally  and  physically  beautiful,  should  be  seldom  or 
never  satisfied.  Within  three  days  after  Rattlesnake 
Sanders  rode  away,  Miss  Barndollar  met  Mr.  Masterson 
in  the  thoroughfares  of  Dodge  and,  with  tears  guttering 
her  freckled  cheeks,  openly  charged  upon  liim  the  crime 
of  their  cruel  separation. 

"Rattlesnake's  the  only  gent  I  ever  loved !"  she  sobbed, 
"an'  yere  you  onfeelin'ly  cuts  in  an'  stampedes  him  out 
o'  my  very  arms.'* 

Mr.  jNlasterson  was  somewhat  discouraged,  and  extri- 
cated himself  from  the  interview  with  what  polite  speed 
he  miglit.  None  the  less,  about  the  ^  roots  of  his  soul 
he  felt  a  sclf-gratulatory  flutter.  His  remedy  had 
worked;  his  advice  was  justified.  He  had  recommended 
for  the  haughty  coldness  of  Miss  Barndollar  a  course  of 
what  Christian  Scientists  would  describe  as  "absent 
treatment"  and  here  was  the  lady  yielding  to  It  like  a 
willow  to  the  wind.  Mr.  IVIasterson  had  cause  for  exulta- 
tion, and  unbent  moderately  to  that  sentiment.  Withal 
he  was  practical,  and  lost  no  time  in  moving  to  reunite 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     283 

the  lovers.  In  tills,  however,  Mr.  Masterson  was  guilty 
of  an  error.  He  dispatched  Cimarron  to  bring  in  Rattle- 
snake, when  he  should  have  sent  the  sympathetic  Jack. 

"Go  over,"  said  Mr.  Masterson  to  Cimarron,  "and 
break  the  news  to  Rattlesnake.  Tell  him  he  wins,  and 
that  there's  nothing  now  to  do  but  consider  Calamity's 
feelings." 

Cimarron  Bill  sullenly  threw  a  saddle  on  a  pony,  and 
pointed  away  into  the  desolate  north.  His  heart  was 
not  for  tliis  journey;  it  was  to  Iiim  as  though  he  were 
summoning  Rattlesnake  not  for  his  marriage  but  for 
his  execution. 

"Bat's  takin'  a  heap  on  liimse'f !"  he  muttered.  "As 
for  me ;  I  washes  my  hands  of  the  whole  play." 

Mr.  Masterson  said  afterward  that  Cimarron  Bill,  in 
that  matter  of  the  love-coil  between  Miss  Bamdollar  and 
Rattlesnake,  betrayed  a  side  of  his  character  hitherto 
unknown.  Mr.  IMasterson  should  have  reflected.  Never 
before  had  he  been  called  upon  to  consider  Cimarron 
while  under  what  peculiar  pressures  were  here  exerted. 
Deep  mthin  the  inner  recesses  of  Cimarron's  nature, 
abode  objections  to  matrimony  as  rooted  as  the  hills. 

"An'  in  partic'lar,"  Cimarron  had  observed,  when  once 
he  mooted  the  subject  with  iMr.  Short  as  part  of  a  review 
they  were  then  and  there  making  of  the  conjugal  expe- 
riences of  Mr.  ]\IcBride  and  Bridget,  "an'  in  partic'lar  I 


284  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

contends  thatfif  the  world  must  liave  secli  things  as  mat- 
rimony, then  no  gent  should  be  pinned  down  to  jest  one 
wife.  An'  for  this  reason,"  he  continued,  waving  an  im- 
pressive paw :  "It  ain't  good  sense.  Is  it  good  farobank 
sense  to  put  j^our  whole  bundle  on  one  ky  ard  ?  No.  Then 
it  ain't  good  weddin'  sense  for  to  resk  your  whole  heart 
on  one  lady.  She  may  fall  to  lose,  an'  then  where  be  you 
at.''  It's  my  idee  that  if  a  party  must  go  ag'inst  this 
weddin'  game,  he'll  be  safer  if  he  spreads  his  bets." 

Holding  fast  to  these  beliefs,  Cimarron  Bill  rode  forth 
full  of  an  unconscious  willingness  to  play  the  marplot. 
He  would  deliver  the  message  of  Mr.  Masterson ;  but 
he  would  deliver  it  in  such  fashion  that,  when  the  worst 
occurred,  as  it  hereafter — according  to  his  thinking — 
must  most  certainly  occur,  he,  Cimarron,  could  felici- 
tate himself  with  the  reflection  that  he  had  in  no  sort 
contributed  towards  bringing  that  worst  about.  He 
would  bear  the  message  of  Mr.  Masterson  ;  he  would  also 
proffer  warnings  all  his  ovm.  Should  the  locoed  Rattle- 
fcnake  then  persist  in  riding  open-eyed  to  Dodge  and  to 
destruction — why,  liis  blood  be  on  his  head ! 

It  was  in  this  frame  that  Cimarron  Bill  sat  down  to 
flap-jacks  with  Rattlesnake  Sanders  that  night  at  the 
latter's  camp  on  the  White  Woman.  And  this  was  the 
conversation  that  passed  between  the  pair: 

"I've  been  sent  over  to  rope  you  up.  Rattlesnake," 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     285 

quoth  Cimarron.  "Calamity  says  you're  to  wash  off 
your  warpaint  an'  report  at  the  agency." 

"Does  she  still  adliere  to  them  demands  about  bustin' 
my  laig?"  asked  Rattlesnake.  "Not  tliat  it  much 
matters,"  he  added  hastily,  for  the  doughty  resolye 
to  see  no  more  of  Miss  Bamdollar,  expressed  to  Mr. 
Masterson,  had  long  since  oozed  away,  "not  that  it  mat- 
ters. The  round-ups  are  eight  weeks  away,  an'  I'd  easy 
be  able  to  ride  by  then." 

After  this  exchange  the  two  munched  wordless  flap- 
j  acks,  diversified  b}^  mouthf uls  of  salt  pork.  Rattlesnake 
Sanders  broke  the  silence. 

"Then  I  takes  it  we  starts  back  by  sun-up." 

"Rattlesnake,"  observed  Cimarron  Bill,  with  a  pomp- 
ous solemnity  that  was  not  wanting  in  effect  upon  his 
auditor,  "you've  come  to  a  bad,  boggy,  quicksand  cross- 
in'.  I\Iy  advice  is  not  to  jump  your  pony  off  the  bank, 
but  ride  in  slow." 

"As  how.^"  asked  Rattlesnake  Sanders,  somewhat  mys- 
tified. 

"You  think  I'm  honest,  don't  you  ?"  demanded  Cimar- 
ron. 

"Shore,  I  think  you're  honest,"  returned  Rattlesnake 
Sanders.  Then,  cautiously:  "But  still  I  allers  sort  o' 
allowed  you  had  you're  honesty  onder  control." 

"Well,  this  is  the  straight  goods  at  any  rate,"  said 


286  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Cimarron.  "Thar's  two  kinds  of  folks  you  must  never 
surrender  to:  ladies  an'  Injuns.  Surrender  to  either  is 
the  shore  preloode  to  torture.  For  you,  now,  to  s:o 
surgin'  rapturously  into  Dotlgc,  like  a  drunkard  to  a 
barbecue,  would  be  the  crownin'  disaster  of  your  c'reer." 

**Whatever  then  should  be  my  little  game?" 

*'It's  this  a-way :  I  said  you  can't  afford  to  surrender 
to  Injuns  an'  ladies.  But  you  can  make  treaties  with 
'cm.  That  gives  you  a  chance  to  prceserve  yourse'f  for 
yourse'f.  What  you  ought  to  do  is  plant  yourse'f  as 
sohd  as  a  gob  of  mud,  an'  send  back  word  that  you're 
thinkin'  it  over." 

"But  s'pose  Calamity  goes  in  the  air,  an'  says  it's  all 
off?" 

"That's  a  resk  no  brave  man  should  refoose  to  take. 
You  want  to  remember  tliat  she  slammed  a  door  in  your 
face ;  that  she  set  Bat  to  run  you  out  o'  camp."  These  re- 
minders clearly  stiffened  Rattlesnake  Sanders.  "For  you 
to  surrender,  onconditional,  would  incite  her  to  new 
crooelties  that  would  lay  over  them  former  inhoomanities 
like  a  king-full  lays  over  a  pa'r  of  treys.  Once,"  went 
on  Cimarron,  who  began  to  be  intoxicated  with  liis  own 
eloquence,  "once  a  party  back  in  St.  Looey  shows  me  a 
picture  of  a  man  chained  to  a  rock,  an'  a  turkey  buzzard 
t'arin'  into  him,  beak  an'  claw.  He  said  it  was  a  sport 
nampd  Prometheus  bein'  fed  upon  by  ^^Jltures.     In  my 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     287 

pore  opinion  that  party  was  barkin'  at  a  knot.  The 
picture  wasn't  meant  for  Prometheus  an'  the  vultures. 
The  painter  who  daubs  it  had  nothin'  on  liis  mind  but  jest 
to  show,  plctor'allv,  exactly  what  marriage  is  like.  It  was 
nothin'  more  nor  less  than  that  gifted  genius'  notion  of  a 
married  man  done  in  colours." 

This  outburst  so  moulded  the  hopes  and  fears,  espe- 
cialh'^  the  fears,  of  Rattlesnake  that  he  gave  himself 
completely  to  the  guidance  of  Cimarron  BiTi. 

"I'm  to  stand  a  pat  hand,"  said  Rattlesnake  tenta- 
tively, "an'  you'll  go  cavortin'  back  an'  tell  Calamity  I'll 
let  her  know." 

"An'  yet,"  interposed  Cimarron  Bill,  "I  think  on  that 
p'int  I'd  better  be  the  bearer  of  a  note  in  writin*.  Ladies 
is  plenty  imaginative,  an'  if  I  takes  to  packin'  in  sech 
messages,  verbal.  Calamity  may  allow  I'm  lyin',  an'  lay 
for  me." 

There  was  no  material  for  letter-making  about  the 
camp.  The  ingenious  Cimarron  suggested  an  "Ingun. 
letter."  Acting  on  his  own  happy  proposal  he  tore  a 
small  board  from  the  top  of  a  box  that  had  held  a  dozen 
cans  of  corn,  and  set  to  work  with  charcoal.  Cimarron 
Bill  drew  in  one  corner  what  might  have  passed  for 
the  sketch  of  a  woman,  while  the  center  was  adorned 
with  an  excited  antelope  in  full  flight,  escaping  over  a 
ridcre. 


288  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

"I'll  mark  the  antelops,  'Bar  D',"  said  Cimarron, 
*'so's  she'll  know  it's  j'ou,  Bar  D  hein'  your  brand." 

"But  whatever  is  Calamity  to  ondcrstand  by  them  to- 
tems?" 

"Nothin'  only  that  you're  goin'  to  be  a  heap  hard  to 
ketch,"' replied  Cimarron.    "It'll  teach  her  your  valyoo." 

The  antelope*  looked  vastly  like  a  disfigured  goat,  and 
the  resemblance  disturbed  Rattlesnake. 

"That'll  be  all  right,"  returned  Cimarron,  confidently ; 
"I'll  explain  that  it's  an  antelops.  All  pictures  has  to 
be  explained." 

When  Cimarron  Bill  laid  before  Miss  Barndollar  the 
message  embodied  in  that  "Injun  letter,"  she  was  so 
swept  away  by  woe  that  even  the  hardened  messenger 
was  shocked.  More  and  worse:  Miss  Barndollar,  with  a 
lack  of  logic  for  which  her  sex  has  celebration,  laid  these 
new  troubles,  as  she  had  the  old,  at  the  door  of  Mr. 
Masterson. 

"You  druv  him  from  me!"  cried  Miss  Barndollar,  as 
she  reproached  Mr.  Masterson  with  her  loss.  "In  your 
heartlessness  you  druv  him  from  me !  An'  now,  al- 
though Sheriff  of  this  yere  county,  you  fails  to  restore  , 
him  to  my  heart."  Throughout  that  day  and  the 
next  Miss  Barndollar  made  it  a  practice  to  burst  into 
tears  at  sight  of  Mr.  Masterson.  "Which  I  wants  my 
Rattlesnake,"  she  wailed. 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     289 

Mr.  Masterson  was  turning  desperate.  This  mood 
found  display  in  an  exclamation  that  was  wrung  from 
him  while  refreshing  his  weary  soul  in  the  Long  Branch. 

"There's  no  use  talking,  Luke,"  observed  Mr.  Master- 
son,  turning  in  his  despair  to  Mr.  Short,  "Dodge  can't 
stand  tliis !  Calamity  must  and  shall  be  married !  If 
Rattlesnake  won't  have  her,  some  other  man  must." 

In  making  this  last  remark  INIr.  IMasterson  let  his 
glance  fall  by  chance  on  Cimarron  Bill.  That  deter- 
mined person  was  startled  to  the  core. 

"You  needn't  look  at  me !"  he  roared.  "Which  I  gives 
notice  I'll  never  be  married  alive !" 

"No  one's  thinking  of  you,  Cimarron,"  retorted  Mr. 
Masterson.  and  the  suspicious  one  breathed  more  evenly. 

Mr.  IMasterson  and  Mr.  Short  consulted  in  low  tones 
across  the  counter.  At  last  Mr.  Short  straightened  up 
as  one  who  is  clear,  and  said : 

"Calamity  in  effect  offers  herse'f  to  this  Rattlesnake 
person,  an'  he  equiv'cates.  Thar's  two  things  in  this  re- 
public which  no  white  man  has  a  license  to  decline ;  one's 
the  presidency,  an'  t'other's  a  lady.  This  Rattlesnake 
has  no  rights  left." 

"But."  said  Mr.,  Masterson,  hesitating  over  the  point, 
*'I  don't  quite  see  my  way  clear — as  Sheriff.'* 

"Speakin*  technicle,  you're  c'rrect,"  observed  Mr. 
Short.     "An'  it's  thar  where  you  makes  the  shift.    Nail 


290  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

him  for  shootin'  up  Kell  that  time.  You-all  knows  me, 
Bat,"  continued  Mr.  Short.  "I'm  a  mighty  conserv'tive 
man,  speshully  about  otlier  folks'  love  affairs.  An'  yet 
I  gives  it  as  my  jedgmcnt  that  steps  should  be  took." 

Mr.  Masterson,  bidding  Cimarron  Bill  follow  with  a 
buckboard,  started  for  the  White  Woman. 

It  was  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  and  Rattle- 
snake Sanders  was  seated  by  liis  fire,  wrapped  in  gloomy 
thought. 

**Hands  up!"  was  his  earliest  notice  of  the  threaten- 
ing nearness  of  Mr.  Masterson  who,  dismounting  two 
hundred  yards  away  and  beyond  a  swell,  had  crept  cat- 
foot  upon  the  camp.  "Hands  up!  You're  wanted  for 
creasing  Kelly !" 

Quick  as  thought,  Rattlesnake  was  on  his  feet.  la.  a 
moment  his  hand  as  though  by  instinct  slipped  to  the 
butt  of  liis  Colt's.  Sharp  as  was  his  work,  Mr.  Master- 
son's  was  even  brisker.  With  the  first  shadow  of  re- 
sistance, he  sent  a  bullet  into  Rattlesnake's  leg — the  other 
leg.  The  shock  sent  the  unlucky  Rattlesnake  spinning  hke 
a  top.  He  fell  at  full  length,  and  before  he  might  pull 
himself  together  Mr.  Masterson  had  him  disarmed. 

*'What  for  a  racket  is  this?"  demanded  Rattlesnake 
fiercely,  when  he  had  collected  his  wits  and  his  breath, 
*'W^hat's' the  meanin'  of  tliis  yere  bluff?" 

"Speaking  unofficially,"  returned  Mr.  Masterson,  "it 


HOW  TRUE  LOVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     291 

means  that  you're  about  to  become  a  married  man.  If 
you  think  Dodge  will  sit  idly  by  wliile  you  break  the 
l)eart  of  that  child  Calamity,  j^ou're  off." 

"Calamity!"  exclaimed  Rattlesnake,  in  a  maze  of 
astonishment.  "Which  I  was  jest  tryin'  to  figger  out 
a  way  to  squar'  myse'f  with  that  angel  when  you  plug- 
ged me !  If  you'd  said  'Calamity !'  instead  of  'Kelly'  it 
wouldn't  have  called  for  a  gun  play.  I'd  have  followed 
you  back  to  town  on  all  fours,  like  a  collie  dog." 

"Why  didn't  you  report,  then,  when  I  sent  for  you.'' 
What  did  you  mean  by  sending  in  that  infernal  hiero- 


uc 


?» 


"Me  an'  Cimarron  was  simply  holdin'  out  for  guar- 
a,ntees,"  groaned  Rattlesnake. 

"You  and  Cimarron !"  cried  Mr.  Masterson  indig- 
nantly. 

From  over  a  knoll  a  clatter  was  heard,  and  Cimarron 
Bill  came  rattling  into  camp  with  the  buckboard.  This 
may  or  may  not  have  had  to  do  with  Mr.  Masterson's 
failure  to  finish  his  last  remark.  Possibly  that  adage, 
which  tells  of  how  soon  tilings  mend  when  least  is  said, 
occurred  to  him  as  a  reason  for  holding  his  peace. 

The  perforated  Rattlesnake  was  comfortably  mowed 
away  in  a  Wright  House  bed,  his  beloved  Calamity  bend- 
ing over  him.  When  the  first  joy  of  their  meeting  had 
been  given  time  to  wear  itself  away,  the  lady  was  called 


292  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

into  the  hall  bv  INIr.  Masterson.  Mr.  Short  was  with 
liim. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  understood,  Calamity,"  said  Mr. 
Masterson,  "as  trying  to  crowd  your  hand,  but  the 
preacher  will  be  here  at  7  P.  M.,  at  which,  hour  you  and 
Rattlesnake  are  to  become  man  and  wife.  That  bullet 
is,  I  confess,  an  unusual  feature  in  a  honeymoon ;  but  for 
all  that  the  wedding  must  take  place,  per  schedule,  as 
I've  got  to  get  this  thing  off  my  mind." 

"As  for  that  bullet  in  Rattlesnake,"  added  Mr.  Short, 
*'it's  a  distinct  advantage.  It'll  make  him  softer  an' 
more  sentimental.  Which  a  gent  gets  sentimental  in 
direct  proportion  as  you  shoot  him  up.  I've  known  two 
bullets,  properly  planted,  to  set  a  party  to  writin* 
poetry." 

"Do  I  onderstand.  Bat,"  asked  Mr.  Kelly,  as  follow- 
ing the  wedding  they  were  wending  to  the  Alhambra 
with  a  plan  to  drink  good  fortune  to  the  happy  pair; 
"do  I  onderstand  that  you  used  my  name  in  gunnin*  for 
this  bridegroom.'"' 

"That  Calamity  girl  had  me  locoed,"  explained  Mr. 
'■Masterson  apologetically.  "I'd  been  harassed  to  a  de- 
gree, Kell,  that  left  me  knockin'  'round  in  the  situation 
like  a  blind  dog  In  a  meat  shop,  hardly  knowing  right 
from  wrong.  All  I  wanted  was  to  marry  him  to  Calam- 
ity, and  I  seized  on  your  name  to  land  the  trick." 


HOW  TRUE  i:dVE  RAN  IN  DODGE     293 

"Still,"  objected  Mr.  Kelly,  mildly,  "you  ought  not  to 
have  founded  the  play  on  liis  wingin'  me.  While  I  w'on't 
say  that  his  shootin'  me  was  in  the  best  of  taste  that 
time,  after  all  it  wasn't  more'n  a  breach  of  manners,  an' 
not  in  any  of  its  aspects,  as  I  onderstand,  a  voylation 
of  the  law.  It  wasn't  fair  to  me  to  make  liim  marry  that 
Calamity  lady  for  that." 

"Besides,"  urged  Cimarron  Bill,  who  had  come  up, 
"them  nuptials  is  onconstitootional,  bein'  in  deefiance  of 
the  clause  which  declar's  that  no  onusual  or  crooel  pun- 
ishments shall  be  meted  out.  Which  I  knows  it's  thar, 
because  Bob  Wright  showed  it  to  me  at  the  time  I  urged 
stoppin'  old  Bobby  Gill's  licker  for  a  week  to  punish  him 
for  pesterin'  'round  among  us  mourners  the  day  of 
Bridget's  fooneral." 


CHAPTER  XII. 
DIPLOMACY  IN  DODGE. 

IT  was  a  subject  of  common  regret  when  Mr.  Mas- 
terson,  as  Sheriff  of  Ford,  decided  to  resign.  He 
had  shown  himself  equipped  for  the  position,  being 
by  nature  cool  and  just  and  honest,  and  disposed  to  ac- 
curacy in  all  things,  especially  in  his  shooting.  It  was 
those  laws  prohibitive  cf  the  sale  of  sti'ong  drink 
throughout  the  State  of  Kansas  that  prompted  the 
resignation  of  ]\Ir.  Mastcrson. 

*'The  rounding  up  of  horse  thieves  and  hold-ups, 
Bob,"  observed  Mr.  Masterson  to  Mr.  Wright,  "is  legi- 
timate work.  And  I  don't  mind  burning  a  little  powder 
with  them  if  such  should  be  their  notion.  But  I  draw 
the  line  at  pulling  on  a  gentleman,  and  dictating  water 
as  a  beverage." 

Whereupon  Mr.  Masterson  laid  down  his  office,  and 
Mr.  Wright  and  Mr.  Short  and  Mr.  Kelly  and  Mr. 

294 


DIPLOMACY  IN  DODGE  295 

Trask  and  Mr.  Tighlman  and  Cimarron  Bill  sorrowfully 
gathered  at  the  Wright  House  and  gave  a  dinner  in  his 
honor.  Following,  the  dinner,  INIr.  Masterson  translated 
himself  to  Arizona,  while  Dodge  relieved  its  feehngs  with 
the  circulation  of  a  document  which  read : 

"We,  the  undersigned,  agree  to  pay  the  sums  set  opposite  our 
names  to  the  widow  and  orphans  of  the  gent  who  first  informs 
on  a  saloonkeeper." 

The  white  American  is  a  mammal  of  unusual  sort. 
He  doesn't  mind  when  his  officers  of  government  merely 
rob  him,  or  do  no  more  than  just  saddle  and  ride  him  in 
favour  of  some  pillaging  monopoly.  But  the  moment 
those  officers  undertake  to  tell  him  what  he  shall  drink 
and  when  he  shall  drink  it,  he  goes  on  the  warpath.  Thus 
was  it  with  the  ebullient  folk  of  Dodge  on  the  dry  occa- 
sion of  Prohibition.  The  paper  adverted  to  gained  many 
signatures,  and  promised  a  fortune  to  those  mourning 
ones  it  so  feelingly  described. 

When  ]\Ir.  IMasterson  laid  down  his  regalia  as  Sheriff 
and  the  public  realised  that  he  had  pulled  his  six-shoot- 
ers, officially,  for  the  last  time,  a  sense  of  loss  filled  the 
bosoms  of  those  who  liked  a  peaceful  life.  There  was  an- 
other brood  which  felt  the  better  pleased.  Certain  disso- 
lute ones,  who  arrive  at  ruddiest  blossom  in  a  half-baked 
Western  camp,  made  no  secret  of  their  satisfaction. 
WithaJ,  they  despised  Mr.  ]Masterson  for  the  certainty 


S96  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

of  his  pistol  practise,  and  that  tacit  brevity  wherewith  he 
sot  his  guns  to  work. 

Perliaps  of  those  wlio  rejoiced  over  the  going  of  Mr, 
Masterson,  a  leading  name  was  that  of  Bear  Creek  John- 
son, Certainly,  Bear  Creek  jubilated  with  a  greater  de- 
gree of  noise  than  did  the  others.  Having  money  at  the 
time,  Bear  Creek  came  forth  upon  what  he  meant  should 
be  a  record  spree. 

The  joyful  Bear  Creek  was  fated  to  meet  with  check. 
He  had  attained  tO'  the  first  stages  of  that  picnic 
which  he  planned,  "jest  beginnin'  to  onbuckle,"  as  he 
himself  expressed  it,  when  he  was  addressed  upon  the 
subject  by  Mr.  Wright.  The  latter  was  standing  in  the 
doorway  of  liis  store,  and  halted  Bear  Creek,  whoop- 
ing up  the  street.  IMr.  Wright  o\^'ned  a  past  where- 
in rifle  smoke  and  courage  were  equally  commingled 
to  make  an  honoured  whole.  Aware  of  these  credits  to 
the  fame  of  jMr.  Wright,  Bear  Creek  ceased  whooping 
to  hear  what  he  might  say.  As  Bear  Creek  paused,  Mr. 
Wright  from  the  doorway  bent  upon  him  a  somber 
glance. 

"I  only  wanted  to  say.  Bear  Creek,"  observed  Mr. 
Wright,  "that  if  I  were  you  I  wouldn't  tire  the  town  with 
any  ill-timed  gaj'ety.  If  the  old  vigilance  committee 
should  come  together,  and  if  it  should  decide  to  clean  up 
the  camp,  the  fact  that  you  owe  me  money  wouldn't  save 


DIPLOMACY  IN  DODGE  297 

you.  I  should  never  let  private  interests  interfere  with 
my  duty  to  the  town,  nor  a  lust  for  gain  keep  me  from 
voting  to  hang  a  criminal.  It  would  be  no  help  to  him 
that  I  happened  to  be  liis  creditor." 

This  rather  long  oration  threw  cold  water  upon  the 
high  spirits  of  Bear  Creek  Johnson.  He  whooped  no 
more,  and  at  the  close  of  Mr.  Wright's  remarks  returned 
to  his  accustomed  table  in  the  Alamo,  where  he  devoted 
the  balance  of  the  evening  to  a  sullen  consumption  of 
rum. 

Several  months  elapsed,  and  Dodge  had  felt  no  ill 
effects  from  Prohibition.  Whiskey  was  obtainable  at 
usual  prices  in  the  Alamo,  the  Alhambra,  the  Long 
Branch,  the  Dance  Hall,  and  what  other  haunts  made  a 
feature  of  liquid  inspiration.  Dodge  was  satisfied. 
Dodge  was  practical  and  never  complained  of  any  law 
until  it  was  enforced.  Since  such  had  not  been  the  case 
with  those  statutes  of  prohibition.  Dodge  was  content. 
The  herds  as  aforetime  came  up  from  Texas  in  the  fall ; 
as  aforetime  the  cowboys  mirthfully  divided  their  equal 
money  between  whiskey,  monte  and  quadrilles.  The  folk 
of  Dodge  thereat  were  pleased.  No  one,  ofncial,  had 
come  to  molest  them  or  make  them  afraid,  and  a  first 
resentful  interest  in  prohibition  was  dying  down. 

This  condition  of  calm  persisted  undisturbed  until  one 
afternoon  when  the  telegraph  operator  came  over  to  the 


298  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Alhambra,  pale  and  shaken,  bearing  a  yellow  message. 
The  message  told  how  the  Attorney  General,  and  the 
President  of  the  Prolubition  League  were  to  be  in  Dodge 
next  day,  with  a  fell  purpose  of  making  desolate  that 
jocund  hamlet  by  an  enforcement  of  the  laws.  The  vis- 
itors would  dismantle  Dodge  of  its  impudent  defiance; 
they  would  destroy  it  with  affidavits,  plow  and  sow  its 
site  with  salt  in  the  guise  of  warrants  of  arrest.  When 
they  were  finished,  the  Alhambra,  the  Long  Branch,  the 
Alamo,  the  Dance  Hall  and  kindred  kindly  emporiums 
would  be  as  springs  that  had  run  dry,  while,  captives  in 
the  town's  calaboose,  their  proprietors  wore  irons  and 
languished.  To  add  insult  to  injury,  those  exalted  ones 
promised  that  when  they  had  cleansed  Dodge  and  placed 
it  upon  a  rumless  footing,  they  would  address  what  citi- 
zens were  not  in  jail  and  strive  to  show  them  the  error  of 
their  sodden  ways  and  teach  them  to  lead  a  happier  and 
a  soberer  life. 

When  Mr.  Masterson  withdrew  to  Arizona,  he  did 
not  expect  to  soon  return  to  Dodge.  He  found,  however, 
that  despite  Tombstone  and  its  pleasures  he  dragged  a 
sense  of  lonehness  about,  and  oft  caught  himself  wonder- 
ing what  IVIr.  Wright  and  ]Mr.  Kelly  and  Mr.  Short  and 
the  rest  of  the  boys  were  doing.  At  last,  giving  as  ex- 
cuse, that  he  ought  to  put  a  wire  fence  about  a  sand- 
blown  stretch  of  desert  that  was  his  and  which  lay  blister- 


In  Disapproval  of  Its  Drinks. 


DIPLOMACY  IN  DODGE  299 

ing  on  the  south  side  of  the  Arkansas  in  the  near  vicinity 
of  Dodge,  he  resolved  upon  a  visit.  He  would  remain 
a  fortnight.  It  would  be  a  vacation — he  hadn't  had  one 
since  the  Black  Kettle  campaign — and  doubtless  serve  to 
wear  away  the  edge  of  those  regrets  which  preyed  upon 
him  when  now  he  no  longer  conserved  the  peace  of  Dodge 
with  a  Colt's-45.  There  comes  a  joy  with  office  holding, 
even  when  the  office  is  one  attractive  of  invidious  lead, 
and  in  the  newness  of  laying  down  that  post  of  Sheriff, 
Mr.  Masterson  should  not  be  criticised  because  the  ghost 
of  an  ache  shot  now  and  then  across  his  soul. 

The  first  day  of  Mr.  IMastcrson's  return  was  devoted 
to  a  renewal  of  old  ties — a  bit  parched,  with  ten  months 
of  Arizona.  The  second  day,  Mr.  Masterson  invested 
in  wandering  up  and  down  and  indulging  himself  in  a 
tender  survey  of  old  landmarks.  Here  was  the  sign- 
post against* which  he  steadied  himself  Vvhen  he  winged 
that  obstreperous  youth  from  the  C-bar-K,  who  had  fired 
his  six-shooter  into  the  Alhambra  in  disapproval  of  Mr. 
Kolly's  wares.  It  was  a  good  shot ;  for  the  one  resentful 
of  Alhambra  whiskey  was  fully  one  hundred  yards  away 
and  on  the  run.  Later,  the  C-bar-K  boy  admitted  that 
the  Alhambra  wliiskey  was  not  so  bad,  and  his  slam-bang 
denunciation  of  it  uncalled  for.  At  that,  ]Mr.  Masterson, 
first  paying  a  doctor  to  dig  his  lead  from  the  boy's 
shoulder,  gave  him  his  freedom  again. 


300  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

"If  KcJl's  whiskey  had  been  really  bad,"  said  ]\Ir. 
Masterson,  "I  would  have  been  the  last  to  interfere  with 
the  resentment  cf  a  gentleman  who  had  suffered  from  it. 
But  I  was  familiar  with  the  brand,  and  knew,  therefore, 
how  that  cowboy  unlimbered  in  merest  wantonness. 
Under  such  conditions,  I  could  not,  and  do  my  duty,  per- 
mit him  to  go  unrebuked." 

Half  a  block  further,  and  Mr.  ]\Iasterson  stood  in 
front  of  the  First  National  Bank.  Mr.  Masterson  re- 
called this  arena  of  finance  as  the  place  wherein  he  bor- 
rowed the  shotgun  with  which  he  cooled  the  ardour  of  jNIr. 
Bowman  when  that  warrior  made  the  long  joumey  from 
Trinidad  with  the  gallant  purpose,  announced  widely  in 
advance,  of  shooting  up  the  town.  Looking  into  the 
double  muzzle  of  the  10-gauge,  the  doughty  one  from 
Trinidad  saw  that  wliich  changed  liis  plans.  Turning 
his  hardware  over  to  ]\Ir.  Masterson,  he  took  a  drink  in 
amity  with  that  hard-working  officer,  and- then  embarked 
•upon  a  festival,  conducted  with  a  scrupulous  regard  for 
the  general  peace,  which  lasted  four  full  days. 

Across  from  tlie  bank  was  the  wareliouse,  the  wooden 
Kralls  of  wliich  displayed  the  furrows  ploughed  by  j\Ir. 
Masterscn's  bullets  on  the  day  when  he  fought  the  three 
gentleman  from  Missouri.  They  were  weather-stained, 
those  furrows,  with  the  rains  that  had  intervened.  IVIr. 
Masterson  being  a  sentimentalist  sighed  over  his  trade- 


DIPLOMACY  IN  DODGE  301 

marks,  and  thought  of  those  pleasant  times  when  they 
were  fresh.  Fifty  yards  beyond  stood  the  httle  hotel 
where  the  dead  were  carried.  It  was  a  good  hotel,  and  in 
that  hour  celebrated  for  its  bar;  remembering  wliich, 
Mr.  IVIasterson  repaired  thither  in  the  name  of  tliirst. 

Mr,  Masterson  was  leaning  on  the  counter,  and  telling 
the  proprietor  that  the  lustre  of  his  wliiskey  had  been 
in  no  sort  dimmed,  when  the  word — just  then  delivered 
by  the  wires — reached  him  of  that  proposed  invasion  in 
the  cause  of  prohibition.  It  was  Mr.  Wright  who  bore 
the  tidings,  and  the  face  of  that  merchant  prince  showed 
grave. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Masterson,  in  tones  of  relief,  "you 
see,  Bob,  that  I  was  right  when  I  resigned.  I'd  be  in  a 
box  now  if  I  were  Sheriff." 

"What  is  your  idea  of  a  course.''"  asked  Mr.  Wright. 
*'It  stands  to  reason  that  the  camp  can't  go  dry ;  at  the 
same  time  I  wouldn't  want  to  see  it  meander  into  trou- 
ble." 

It  was  thought  wise  by  Mr.  Wright,  after  exhaustively 
conferring  ^-ith  Mr.  Masterson,  to  call  a  meeting  of  the 
male  inhabitants  of  Dodge.  There  might  be  discovered 
in  a  multitude  of  counsel  some  pathway  that  would  lead 
them  out  of  this  law-trap,  while  permitting  them  to 
drink. 

Mr.  Wright  presided  at  the  meeting,  which  was  large. 


302  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

There  were  speeches,  some  for  peace  and  some  for  war, 
but  none  whicli  opened  any  gate.  Dodge  was  where  it 
started,  hostile,  but  undecided.  Somebody  called  on  Mr. 
IMasterson ;  what  would  he  suggest?  Mr.  ]Masterson, 
being  no  orator  and  fluent  only  with  a  gun,  tried  to  es- 
cape. However,  over-urged  by  Mr.  Wright,  he  spake 
as  follows: 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Masterson,  "I  was  so  recently 
your  Sheriff  that  tlie  habit  of  upholding  law  and  main- 
taining order  is  still  strong  upon  me,  and  it  may  be  that, 
thus  crippled,  I  am  but  ill  qualified  to  judge  of  the  wis- 
dom of  onesi  who  have  counseled  killing  and  scalping 
these  prohibition  people  who  will  favour  Dodge  to-mor- 
row afternoon.  My  impression,  however,  is  that  such  ac- 
tion, while  perhaps  natural  under  the  circumstances, 
would  be  grossly  premature.  It  would  bring  down  the 
State  upon  us,  and  against  such  odds  even  Dodge  might 
not  sustain  herself.  All  things  considered,  my  advice 
is  this:  Close  every  saloon  an  hour  before  our  visitors 
arrive,  and  keep  them  closed  while  they  remain.  Every 
man — for  there  would  be  no  sense  in  enduring  hardships 
uselessly — should  provide  himself  in  advance  with  say  a  . 
gallon.  The  saloons  closed,  our  visitors  would  be  power- 
less. What  a  man  doesn't  see  he  doesn't  know ;  and  those 
emissaries  of  a  tyrannous  prohibition  would  be  unable  to 
make  oath.     In  the  near  finish,  they  would  leave.     Once 


DIPLOMACY  IX  DODGE  SOS 

they  had  departed,  Dodge  could  again  go  forward  on 
its  hberty-loving  way.  Those  are  my  notions,  gentlemen ; 
and  above  all  I  urge  that  nothing  like  violence  be  in- 
dulged in.  Let  our  visitors  enter  and  depart  in  peace. 
Do  not  put  it  within  their  power  to  say  that  Dodge 
was  not  a  haven  of  peace.  You  must  remember  that  not 
alone  your  liberty  but  your  credit  is  at  stake,  and  play  a 
quiet  hand  according," 

While  Mr.  Wright  and  that  conservative  contingent 
wliich  he  represented  approved  the  counsel  of  Mr. 
Masterson,  there  were  others  who  condemned  it.  At 
the  head  of  these  latter  was  the  turbulent  Bear  Creek 
Johnson.  After  the  meeting  had  adjourned,  that  riot- 
urging  individual  branded  the  words  of  Mr.  Masterson 
as  pusilanimous.  For  himself,  the  least  that  Bear  Creek 
would  consent  to  was.  the  roping  up  of  the  visitors  the 
moment  they  appeared.  They  were  to  be  dragged  at  the 
hocks  of  a  brace  of  cow-ponies  until  such  time  as  they 
renonced  their  iniqitous  mission,  and  promised  respect  to 
Dodge's  appetites  and  needs. 

"As  for  that  Masterson  party,"  said  the  bitter  Bear 
Creek,  who  being  five  drinks  ahead  was  pot-valiant, 
"what's  he  got  to  do  with  the  play?  He  got  cold  feet 
an'  quit  ten  months  ago.  Now  he  allows  he'll  come  but- 
tin'  in  an'  tell  people  what  kyards  to  draw,  an'  how  to 
fill  an'  bet  their  hands.    Some  gent  ought  to  wallop  a  gun 


804.  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

over  his  head.  An'  if  some  gent  don't,  I  sort  o'  nach- 
erally  reckon  I'll  about  do  the  trick  myse'f ." 

Since  Bear  Creek  Jolmson  reserved  these  views  for 
souls  who  were  in  sympathy  therewith,  meanwhile  con- 
cealing the  same  from  such  as  Mr.  Masterson  and  Mr. 
Wright,  there  arose  no  one  to  contradict  him.  ]\Iade 
bold  by  silent  acquiescence,  and  exalted  of  further  drinks, 
Bear  Creek  drew  about  him  an  outcast  coterie  in  the  rear 
room  of  i\Ir.  Webster's  Alamo.  It  was  there,  with  Bear 
Creek  to  take  the  lead,  they  laid  their  heads  together  for 
the  day  to  come. 

There  be  men  on  earth  vrho  are  ever  ready  for 
trouble  that,  specifically,  isn't  trouble  of  their  o\\'n.  They 
delight  in  dancing  when  others  pay  the  fiddler.  Num- 
bers of  such  gathered  with  the  radical  Bear  Creek ;  and 
being  gathered,  he  and  the}'^  pooled  their  wicked  wits  in 
devising  fardels  for  those  expected  enemies. 

When,  next  day,  our  executives  of  prohibition  came 
into  Dodge,  they  were  amazed,  wliile  scarcely  gratified, 
to  find  CA'ery  rum  shop  locked  up  fast  and  tight.  The 
Dance  Hall,  the  Alhambra,  the  Long  Branch  and  the 
Alamo,  acting  on  the  hint  of  ]Mr.  Masterson,  had  closed 
their  doors,  and  not  a  drink  of  whiskey,  not  even  for  rat- 
tlesnake-bite, could  have  been  bought  from  one  end  of  the 
street  to  the  other.  Not  that  this  paucity  of  rum-selling 
seemed  to  bear  heavily  upon  the  community.    There  were 


DIPLOMACY  IN  DODGE  305 

never  so  many  gentlemen  of  Dodge  whom  one  might  de- 
scribe as  wholly  and  successfully  drunk.  The  board- 
walks were  thronged  with  their  staggering  ranks,  as  the 
visitors  made  a  tour  of  the  place. 

The  visitors  were  pompous,  v/ell-fcd  men  of  middle 
age;  and  while  they  said  they  had  come  to  perform  a 
duty,  one  skilled  in  man-reading  might  have  told  at  a 
glance  that  their  great  purpose  was  rather  to  tickle 
vanity,  and  demonstrate  how  unsparing  would  be  their 
spirit  when  the  question  became  one  of  moral  duty. 

When  the  duo  first  appeared  their  faces  wore  a  ruddy, 
arrogant  hue.  As  they  went  about  upon  that  tour  of 
inspection  they  began  to  pale.  There  was  something 
in  the  lowering  eye  of  what  fragment  of  the  public 
looked  to  the  leadership  of  Bear  Creek  Johnson,  to 
whiten  them. 

Pale  as  linen  three  times  bleached,  following  fifteen, 
minutes  spent  about  the  streets,  the  visitors — their  strut- 
ting pomposity  visibly  reduced — made  a  shortest  wake 
to  Gallon's,  being  the  hostelry  they  designed  to  honour 
with  their  custom.  Gallon's  was  a  boarding-house  dis- 
tinguished as  "Prohibition,"  and  the  visitors  proposed  to 
illustrate  it  and  give  it  fashion  in  the  estimation  of 
sober  men,  by  bestowing  upon  it  their  patronage.  Two 
hours  later,  the  proprietor  would  have  paid  money  to 
dispense  with  the  advertisement. 


806  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Once  the  Invaders  were  housed,  by  twos  and  fives  and 
tens,  the  disengaged  inhabitants  of  Dodge  began  to 
assemble  in  front  of  Gallon's.  Some  came  in  a  temper 
of  curiosity.  The  band  with  Bear  Creek  Johnson,  how- 
ever, entertained  a  different  feeling.  Their  taste  was 
for  the  strenuous.  They  set  forth  this  fact  with  imita- 
tions of  the  yelp  of  the  coyote.  Withal,  they  were  con- 
stantly closing  up  about  the  refuge  of  the  visitors,  until 
they  stood,  a  packed  and  howling  mob,  with  which 
it  was  no  more  than  a  question  of  minutes  before  ugly 
action  would  begin. 

Bear  Creek  Johnson  was  in  the  van,  fostering  and 
fomenting  a  sentiment  for  violence.  The  unworthy  Bear 
Creek  was  not  lacking  in  qualities  of  leadership  ;  he  real- 
ised, as  by  an  instinct,  that  a  mob  must  have  time  to 
5>ipen  before  it  is  put  to  work.  Wherefore,  Bear 
Creek,  wliile  cursing  and  threatening  with  the  rest, 
delayed.  He  paused,  as  it  were,  with  his  thumb  on  the 
angry  pulse  of  the  multitude,  waiting  to  seize  the  mo- 
ment psychological. 

Hemmed  in  by  four  hundred  pusliing,  threatening, 
cursing,  human  wolves,  those  agents  of  prohibition 
whitely  sat  and  shivered.  They  knew  their  peril ;  also 
they  felt  that  sense  of  utter  helplessness  which  will 
only  come  to  men  when  forced  to  face  the  brainless 
fury  of  a  mob.     What  should  be  done?     What  could 


DIPLOMACY  IN  DODGE  307 

be  done?  In  that  moment  of  extremity  the  propri- 
etor of  the  boarding-house,  with  the  fear  of  death  upon 
him,  could  think  of  nothing  beyond  sending  for  Mr. 
Wright. 

To  be  courier  in  this  hour  of  strain  a  girl  of  twelve 
was  sent  out  b}'  a  rear  door.  There  was  craft  in  tliis  se- 
lection of  a  messenger.  No  Western  mob,  however 
bloody  of  intention,  would  dream  of  interfering  with  a 
girl.  Besides,  Mr.  Wright  would  never  refuse  a  girl's 
request. 

Mr.  Wright  might  have  been  as  pleased  had  he  not 
been  called  upon.  To  oppose  the  insurrectionists  was 
neither  a  work  of  pleasure  nor  of  safety,  and  the  oppor- 
tunity to  thus  put  liimself  in  feud  with  a  half  regiment  of 
men  whose  blood  was  up,  and  with  whom  when  the  smoke 
of  battle  blew  aside  he  must  still  do  business,  could 
not  be  called  a  boon.  But  the  little  girl's  lips  were  blue 
with  terror,  and  her  frightened  eyes  showed  round  and 
big,  as  she  besought  Mr.  Wright  to  save  the  life  of  her 
father — it  was  he  to  be  proprietor  of  Gallon's — and  the 
lives  of  those  visiting  gentlemen,  representative  of  prohi- 
bition. Getting  wearily  up  from  the  poker  game  in 
which  he  was  employed,  Mr.  Wright  made  ready  to  go 
with  the  little  girl. 

"You  had  better  come  too,  Bat,"  said  Mr.  Wnght, 
addressing  Mr.  Masterson.     "I  think  you  can  do  more 


308  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

with  a  Dodge  mob  than  I  can.  They've  seen  more  of 
your  shooting." 

"Of  course  I'll  go,  Bob,"  returned  Mr.  Masterson, 
laying  down  a  reluctant  hand  in  which  dwelt  a  pair  of 
aces — a  highly  hopeful  pair  before  the  draw! — "of 
course  I'll  go.  But  it  seems  hard  that  I  must  leave  just 
when  the  hands  are  beginning  to  run  my  way.  I  wish 
Bear  Creek  had  put  off  this  uprising  another  hour.  I'd 
have  been  a  mile  on  velvet." 

When  IVIr.  Masterson  and  Mr.  Wright  arrived  at  the 
seat  of  war,  the  mob  was  more  or  less  impressed  and  its 
howls  lost  half  their  volume.  Mr.  IMasterson  and  Mr. 
Wright  walked  through  the  close-set  ranks,  and  went  in 
by  the  front  door.  No  back  door  for  Mr.  Masterson  and 
Mr.  Wright;  especially  under  the  eyes  of  ones  whom 
they  must  presently  outface. 

"What  is  your  desire,  gentlemen.?"  asked  Mr.  Master- 
son,  when  he  and  Mr.  Wright  found  themselves  with  the 
beleaguered  ones. 

"There  is  a  train  in  an  hour  and  thirty  minutes,"  re- 
plied the  Attorney  General.  He  showed  the  colour  of  a 
sheet,  but  his  upper  lip  was  stiffer  than  was  that  of  his 
companion,  which  twitched  visibly.  "Can  you  put  us 
aboard.''" 

"Now  I  don't  see  why  not,"  returned  Mr.  Masterson. 

"Don't  see  why  not!"  exclaimed  the  President  of  the 


DIPLOMACY  IN  DODGE  309 

Prohibition  League ;  "don't  see  why  not !  You  hear 
those  murderers  outside,  and  you  don't  see  why  not !"  It 
should  be  mentioned  in  the  gentleman's  defence  that  his 
nerves  were  a-j angle.  "Don't  see  wiiy  not!"  he  mur- 
mured, sinking  back  as  a  deeper  roar  came  from  without. 

"Don't  let  the  racket  outside  disturb  you,"  said  Mr. 
Masterson  in  a  reassuring  tone.  "We'll  manage  to  get 
that  outfit  back  in  its  corral." 

"But  do  you  guarantee  our  safety.'"'  gasped  the 
other. 

"As  to  that,"  returned  Mr.  Masterson,  "you  gentle- 
men understand  that  I  am  not  issuing  life  insurance. 
What  I  say  is  tliis:  Whoever  gets  you  will  have  to  go 
over  me  to  make  the  play." 

Mr.  Masterson  and  Mr.  Wright  conversed  apart. 
There  was  no  haste;  the  mob  would  confine  itself  to 
threats  and  curses  while  they  remained  in  the  house. 

^'Perhaps  I'd  better  give  'em  a  talk,  Bob,"  said  Mr. 
Masterson,  at  the  close  of  their  confab.  "There  are  two 
things  to  do.  We  must  get  rid  of  Bear  Creek.  And  we 
must  let  it  look  like  the  rest  of  'em  had  taken  a  trick. 
I  think  I'll  suggest  that  we  make  our  visitors  give  us 
those  temperance  speeches.  They  won't  want  to  do  it; 
and  if  we  let  the  boys  sort  o'  compel  them  to  be  eloquent, 
they'll  most  likely  quit  satisfied.  If  we  don't  do  some- 
thing of  the  kind,  it's  my  opinion  they'll  take  a  shot  at 


310  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

us  before  ever  we  place  these  shuddering  strangers  on 
the  train." 

"Do  what  you  reckon  best,"  returned  IMr.  Wright. 
"I'll  back  your  game." 

Mr.  Masterson  opened  the  front  door  and,  with  Mr. 
Wright,  stepped  forth.  He  considered  the  mob  a  mo- 
ment with  a  quiet  eye,  and  then  raised  his  hand  as  if  to 
invite  attention. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "if  I  talk  to  j^ou,  it's  on  your 
account.  The  people  inside,  in  whose  honour  3'ou've  as- 
sembled, intend  to  board  the  first  train  for  the  East." 

"Board  nothin' !  Let's  swing  'em  oif !"  cried  a  cowboy 
from  south  of  the  river.  He  was  carrying  his  lariat  in 
his  hand ;  as  he  spoke  he  whirled  the  loop  about  his  head, 
knocking  off  the  sombreros  of  those  nearest  him.  "Let's 
swing  'em  off !"  he  shouted. 

"I'll  swing  you  off,  if  you  don't  give  that  rope  a  rest !" 
returned  an  irate  one,  unhatted,  and  with  that  he  collared 
the  cliild  of  cows,  and  threw  him  backward  into  the  press. 
"Go  on.  Bat,"  said  tliis  auxiliary,  having  abated  the  cow- 
boy and  his  rope;  "give  us  the  layout  of  your  little 
game.'* 

"My  little  game,"  continued  Mr.  IMasterson  calmly, 
"is  this :  I've  passed  my  word  that  no  harm  shall  come 
to  these  people.  And  for  this  reason.  If  they  were  even 
a  little  injured,  the  prohibition    papers    would    make 


DIPLOMACY  IN  DODGE  311 

bloody  murder  of  it.  Inside  of  hours,  the  soldiers  from 
the  Fort  would  be  among  us,  and  the  town  under  martial 
law.  They  would  be  sending-  you  prairie  dogs  to  bed 
at  nine  o'clock,  with  a  provost  marshal  to  tuck  you  in ; 
and  none  of  you  would  like  that.  I  wouldn't  like  it  my- 
self." 

"Let  the  soldiers  come !"  shouted  Bear  Creek  Johnson 
from  the  extreme  wing  of  the  mob.  Bear  Creek  had 
drawn  from  the  whiskey  under  his  belt  a  more  than 
normal  courage.  IMoreover,  he  felt  that  it  was  in- 
cumbent upon  him  to  make  a  stand.  Considering  those 
plans  he  had  laid,  and  which  included  driving  INIr.  Mas- 
terson  out  of  town  should  he  have  the  impudence  to  stand 
in  their  way.  Bear  Creek  knew  that  otherwise  he  would 
be  disparaged  in  the  estimation  of  liis  followers  and 
suffer  in  his  good  repute.  He  resolved  to  put  for- 
ward a  bold  face,  and  bully  Mr.  Masterson.  "Let  tbe 
soldiers  come!"  Bear  Creek  repeated.  "We  \>on't  ask 
Bat  INIasterson  to  give  us  any  help." 

"Is  that  you,  Bear  Creek?"  observed  Mr.  Masterson, 
turning  on  that  popular  idol. 

Mr.  Masterson  stepped  off  the  porch  and  walked  down 
upon  the  grass.  This  brought  Bear  Creek  clear  of  the 
herd.  No  one,  in  case  Bear  Creek  became  a  target, 
would  be  in  line  of  ]Mr.  Masterson's  fire.  Bear  Creek 
noticed  this  as  something  sinister. 


312  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

"I  reckon  no'.v,"  continued  Mr,  Masterson,  still  edging 
in  between  Bear  Creek  and  his  reserves,  "that  in  case 
of  trouble,  jou  would  take  command,  and  run  the  sol- 
diers out."  Then,  solemnly,  while  Mr.  Wright  from 
the  porch  scanned  those  to  the  rear  of  Mr.  Masterson 
for  an  earliest  hostile  sign:  "Bear  Creek,  you've  been 
holding  forth  that  you're  a  heap  bad,  but  I,  for  one,  am 
unconvinced.  I  understand  how  ycu  snuffed  out  the  sol- 
dier at  Fort  Lyons ;  but  I  also  understand  how  that 
soldier  was  dead  drunk.  I've  likewise  heard  how  you 
bumped  off  the  party  on  the  Cimarron ;  at  the  same  time 
that  party  was  plumb  tender  and  not  heeled.  Wherefore, 
I  decline  to  regard  those  incidents  as  tests.  You  must 
give  Dodge  a  more  conclusive  proof  of  gameness  before 
you  can  dictate  terms  to  the  camp.  You've  got  your 
irons !    What  do  you  wear  'em  for.'^" 

As  though  to  point  the  question,  Mr.  Masterson's  six- 
shooter  jumped  from  its  belt,  and  exploded  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Bear  Creek.  The  big  bullet  tore  the  ground  two 
inches  from  his  right  foot.  With  a  screech  of  dismay. 
Bear  Creek  soared  into  the  air. 

Even  wliile  Mr.  Masterson  was  talking,  Bear  Creek 
Johnson's  fortitude  had  been  sweating  itself  away.  The 
catlike  creeping  in  between  him  and  his  constituents  had 
also  served  to  unhinge  him.  Indeed  he  was  in  such  frame 
that  the  sudden  explosion  of  Mr.  Masterson's  pistol  ex- 


DIPLOMACY  IN  DODGE  313 

ploded  with  it  his  hysteria.  Beap  Creek  could  do  notliing 
but  make  the  shameful  screeching  leap  described. 

Away  went  his  nerves  like  a  second  flock  of  frightened 
sheep  when,  just  as  he  felt  the  grass  again  beneath  him, 
there  came  a  second  flash,  and  a  second  bullet  buried  it- 
self in  the  ground,  grazing  his  left  foot.  Bear  Creek 
made  another  skyward  leap,  and  evolved  another  horror- 
bitten  screech  to  wliich  the  first  was  as  a  whisper.  When 
he  came  down,  a  third  bullet  ripped  a  furrow  between  his 
legs. 

Bear  Creek  Jolinson  had  so  far  recovered  possession 
of  himself  that  at  the  third  shot  he  didn't  leap.  He  ran. 
The  ignoble  Bear  Creek  fled  from  the  blazing  Mr.  Mas- 
terson  with  a  speed  that  would  have  amazed  the  ante- 
lopes. 

"It's  as  I  thought!"  remarked  Mr.  Masterson,  regret- 
fully; "quit  like  a  dog,  and  never  even  reached  for  liis 
gun!"  Then,  returning  to  the  public,  which  had  been 
vastly  interested  by  those  exercises  in  which  Bear  Creek 
had  performed,  Mr.  Masterson  resumed.  "As  I  was  say- 
ing, when  Bear  Creek  interrupted  me,  I've  given  my 
word  to  the  folks  inside  that  they  shall  not  meet  with 
injury.  But  there's  one  matter  upon  which,  if  you'll 
back  me  up,  I'd  like  to  enter."  At  this,  certain  scowls 
which  wrinkled  the  brows  of  the  more  defiant,  began  to 
abate  by  the  fraction  of  a  shadow.     "These  men,"  went 


SU  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

on  Mr.  Mastcrson,  "made  boasts  before  they  came  here 
that  they  would  speak  on  temperance  and  prohibition.  I 
understand,  from  what  they  now  say,  that  they  have 
given  up  this  design.  I  don't  Hke  that.  I  don't  want 
them  running  into  the  papers  with  a  lie  about  the  lawless- 
ness of  Dodge,  and  how  we  wouldn't  permit  free  speech. 
If  I  were  j'ou,  I'd  have  these  Ciceros  out,  cost  what  it 
might,  and  they'd  either  make  those  speeches  or  give  a 
reason  why." 

"You're  dead  right.  Bat,"  cried  one  enthusiast. 
"Smoke  'em  out !  Make  'em  talk !  If  they've  got  any- 
thing ag'inst  whiskey,  let  'em  spit  it  out.  I  don't  owe 
whiskey  a  splinter ;  an',  you  bet !  these  trantlers 
ain't  goin'  back  to  Topeka,  poisonin'  the  public 
mind,  and  putting  it  up  that  Dodge  wasn't  safe  to 
talk  in." 

^'Taking  the  gentleman's  remarks,"  observed  Mr. 
Masterson  gravely,  "as  reflecting  the  common  sentiment, 
I  move  you  that  Mr.  Wright  be  instructed  to  go  to  our 
visitors  and  say  that  we're  waiting  with  impatience  to 
hear  them  on  the  dual  topics  of  temperance  in  its  moral 
aspects,  and  prohibition  as  a  police  regulation  of  the 
State.     Those  in  favour  say.  Ay !" 

There  was  a  thunder-gust  of  Ays ! 

"The  Ays  have  it,"  confirmed  Mr.  Masterson.  "Bob, 
will  you  go  inside  and  get  the  muzzles  off  the  orators  .'* 


DIPLOMACY  IN  DODGE  315 

When  ready,  parade  'em  before  this  enlightened  and 
sympatlietic  audience,  and  tell  'em  they've  never  had  such 
a  chance  to  distinguish  themselves  since  the  Mexican 
War.'* 

Mr.  Wright  withdrew  in  submission  to  instructions. 
While  he  was  absent,  Mr.  IMasterson  indulged  his  audi- 
ence with  a  few  more  words,  lowering  his  voice  as  though 
what  he  said  were  confidential. 

"Mr.  Wright,"  remarked  ]Mr.  Masterson,  "will 
shortly  appear  with  our  visitors.  During  the  exercises, 
I  trust  that  nothing  trencliing  upon  disturbance  ^vill  be 
indulged  in.  I  shall  preside;  and  I  need  not  call  atten- 
tion to  the  fact  that  there  are  still  three  cartridges  in  my 
gun.  Also,  I  might  add  that  I  don't  always  shoot  at  a 
party's  moccasins  and  miss." 

It  was  tlie  only  thing  they  could  do.  With  Mr.  Mas- 
terson and  Mr.  Wright  to  give  them  courage,  and 
despair  to  lend  them  grace,  those  visiting  ones  spake 
upon  whiskey  as  the  Devil's  broth  and  the  hideous  evils 
of  intemperance.  All  things  considered,  they  made  ex- 
cellent addresses.  Not  the  best  that  was  in  them,  per- 
haps; but  what  then.'^  Patrick  Henry  would  have  fum- 
bled for  a  word  were  he  to  feel  that  at  any  moment  an 
auditor  might  step  forward  and  edit  a  faulty  sentence 
with  his  Colt's.  It  is  to  the  glory  of  Dodge,  that  the 
orators  were  broken  in  upon  by  nothing  more  lethal  than 


816  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

applause,  wliile  each  was  made  prouder  by  a  wliirlwind 
of  cheers  when  he  closed. 

It  was  evening  in  the  Alhambra.  Those  prohibition 
folk  were  distant  by  one  hundred  safe  and  healthful 
miles,  and  Dodge  had  returned  to  the  even  tenor  of  its 
ways.  Suddenly  Mr.  Wright  delivered  Iiimself  of  this 
reproof. 

"There's  one  fault  I've  got  to  find,  Bat;  there's  one 
thing  I  won't  get  over  soon.  Why,  I  ask  j'ou,  why,  when 
you  had  him  dead  to  rights,  did  you  miss  that  Bear 
Creek?" 

"I  know  how  you  feel,  Bob,"  returned  Mr.  IVIaster- 
son  in  a  manner  of  self-reproach,  "and  I  despair  of 
framing  up  an  apology  that  will  square  me  with  Dodge. 
Why  didn't  I  down  Bear  Creek?  It  will  sound  cliildish" 
— here  Mr.  Masterson's  eye  took  on  a  twinkle  that  was 
sly — "but,  Bob,  I'm  no  longer  sheriff;  and,  between  us, 
I'm  afraid  I  don't  shoot  true  in  my  private  capacity." 


CHAPTER  Xlir. 
THE  RESCUE  OF  CIMARRON  BILL. 

PINION  has  been  ever  divided  as  to  the  true 
reason  of  Ogallala's  objection  to  Cimarron 
Bill.  Some  there  were  who  said  it  was  bom  of 
Ogallala's  jealousy  of  Dodge,  the  latter  metropolis 
being  as  all  men  know  the  home  of  Cimarron.  Others 
held  it  to  be  offspring  of  the  childish  petulance  of  Ogal- 
lala,  which  resented  the  unseemly  luck  of  Cimarron  who 
had  played  at  cards  with  its  citizens.  The  latter  would 
appear  the  better  solution;  for  when  the  committee, 
which  consisted  of  Mr.  Jenkins  of  the  Sheaf  of  Wheat 
Saloon,  Mr.  Sopris  and  Mr.  Smart,  notified  Cimarron 
to  depart,  the  ostracism  was  expressly  based  upon  the 
good  fortune  which  throughout  four  nights  of  draw- 
poker  had  waited  upon  the  obnoxious  one. 

The  committee,  in   a   spirit  of  fairness  that  did  it 
credit,   explained  how   Ogallala  did  not  intend  by  its 

action   to   accuse   Cimarron   of  having   practiced   an^ 

317 


Si»  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

fraud.  Had  such  been  the  case,  Ogallala  would  have 
hanged  liim  Instead  of  bidding  him  depart  in  peace. 
What  was  meant  came  to  be  no  more  than  tliis:  Ogal- 
lala  was  new  and  small,  and  per  consequence  poor,  and 
could  not  afford  the  luxury  of  Cimarron's  presence.- 
Under  the  circumstance  the  committee  urged  him  to  have 
avail  of  the  first  train  that  passed  through.  Leaving 
with  him  a  time  table  and  the  suggestion  that  he  study 
it,  the  committee  withdrew. 

Cimarron  Bill  was  possessed  of  many  of  the  more 
earnest  characteristics  of  a  bald  hornet.  Also,  he  held 
that  the  position  assumed  towards  him  by  Ogallala  was 
in  violation  of  his  rights  under  a  scheme  of  government 
which  guaranteed  him  life,  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of 
happiness.  The  last  franchise  in  particular  he  construed 
as  covering  in  liis  favour  the  privilege  of  remaining  what 
space  he  pleased  in  Ogallala,  and  diverting  himself  with 
cards  at  the  expense  of  those  members  of  the  body  politic 
willing  to  play  with  him.  Thinking  on  these  lines,  lie 
resolved  to  defy  the  sentiment  of  Ogallala,  and  stay 
where  he  was. 

In  preparation  for  what  might  happen,  Cimarron 
Bill  repaired  to  the  Midland  Hotel  and  got  his  six- 
shooter,  which  weapon,  in  compliment  to  Ogallala,  he 
had  theretofore  avoided  wearing.  Being  girt  for  his 
defence,  he  wended  to  the  Arcade,  a  place  of  refreshment 


THE  RESCUE  OF  CIMARRON  BILL     319 

next  neighbour  to  Mr.  Jenkins'  Sheaf  of  Wheat,  and 
seating  himself  at  a  table  called  calmly  for  a  drink. 
Word  of  these  manceuvres  was  conveyed  to  Mr.  Jenkins, 
who  as  chairman  of  the  notification  committee  felt  com- 
pelled to  vindicate  the  dignity  of  Ogallala. 

It  was  an  hour  later  and,  being  In  the  hot  middle  of 
an  August  afternoon,  the  Sheaf  of  Wheat  was.  deserted. 
Likewise  was  the  Arcade,  save  for  the  presence  of  Cimar- 
ron Bill.  Mr.  Jenkins  made  sure  of  tills  by  glancing 
through  the  window  of  the  Arcade  when  returning  from 
a  brief  Invented  trip  to  the  post-office. 

Believing  that  the  time  to  move  had  come,  Mr.  Jen- 
kins arranged  a  shotgun  on  the  shelf  below  the  level 
of  the  Sheaf  of  Wheat  bar.  There  was  a  charge  of 
buckshot  In  each  barrel,  and  IMr.  Jenkins  entertained 
hopes  of  what  might  be  accomplished  therewith.  When 
fully  organised,  ]\Ir.  Jenkins  took  a  six-shooter  and 
blazed  away  at  the  floor.  He  relied  on  the  curiosity  of 
Cimarron,  certain  In  this  fashion  to  be  aroused,  to  bring 
him  within  range. 

Mr.  Jenkins  was  so  far  correct  as  to  the  inquisitive 
:[iature  of  Cimarron  Bill  that  the  smoke  was  still  a-curl 
about  the  low  ceiling  of  the  Sheaf  of  Wheat  when  the 
latter  came  rushing  through  the  door.  But  the  door  of 
Cimarron's  advent  was  the  rear  and  not  the  front  door, 
as  had  been  confidently  anticipated  by  Mr.  Jenkins.    He 


820  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

liad'  dropped  the  six-shooter  and  caught  up  the  Greener 
with  a  pui'pose  of  potting  Cimarron  the  moment  he  ap- 
peared. This  reversal  of  doors,  however,  was  so  dis- 
concerted that  in  the  liurry  of  wheehng,  and  because  of 
the  nearness  of  Cimarron,  he  missed  that  hvely  gentle- 
man altogether. 

Cimarron  Bill  replied  to  INIr.  Jenkins  with  his  Colt's- 
45,  and  the  bullet  glancing  on  the  fore-end  of  the 
Greener  cut  away  the  second,  third  and  little  fingers  of 
Mr.  Jenkins'  left  hand.  The  blow  to  his  nervous  system 
sent  Mr.  Jenkins  to  the  floor,  where,  being  a  prince  for 
prudence  and  no  mean  strategist,  he  remained  a-sprawl, 
feigning  death.  This  pretense  imposed  upon  Cimarron 
who,  after  lielping  himself  to  a  drink  at  the  expense, 
as  he  supposed,  of  JMr.  Jenkins'  estate,  shot  a  hole 
through  the  bar  mirror  in  registration  of  his  contempt, 
and  sauntered  into  the  street. 

Mr.  Jenkins,  following  the  going  of  Cimarron  Bill, 
scrambled  to  liis  feet,  thrust  a  fresh  cartridge  into  the 
empty  barrel  of  the  Greener,  and  hastened  to  the  door. 
Having  advantage  of  the  back  of  Cimarron,  that  per- 
sonage being  distant  forty  yards,  he  poured  a  charge 
from  the  Greener  into  him.  As  Cimarron  went  down, 
Mr.  Jenkins — who  was  no  one  to  slight  his  work — un- 
slewed  the  second  barrel.  It  went  wild,  and  did  no 
scathe  beyond  sending  one  buckshot  through  the  Ogal- 


THE  RESCUE  OF  CIMARRON  BILL     321 

lala  Harbinger,  which  Mr.  Sopris,  chair  tilted  against 
the  front  of  the  Cowboy's  Rest,  was  reading,  while  the 
balance  of  the  load  shattered  the  front  window  of  that 
justly  popular  resort.  Mr.  Jenkins,  believing  that  the 
honor  of  Ogallala  had  been  retrieved,  sought  the  local 
,  doctor,  while  several  unengaged  members  of  the  public 
gathered  about  the  prostrate  Cimarron. 

The  luck  which  had  attended  upon  Cimarron  Bill 
during  his  stay  in  Ogallala  did  not  abandon  him  in  his 
off-and-on  duel  with  Mr.  Jenkins.  Sundry  of  those  car- 
tridges which  were  as  the  provender  of  the  Greener  had 
been  filled  with  bird  not  buckshot,  being  designed  for 
the  destruction  of  prairie  hens.  IMr.  Jenkins,  in  the 
hurry  of  reloading  that  right  barrel,  had  selected  a 
prairie-hen  carti'idge.  So  far  from  resembling  one  of 
those  diminutive  fowls,  Cimarron  was  a  gentleman  of 
vitality  and  powers  of  recuperation.  The  birdshot  pep- 
pered but  did  not  kill.  Even  as  they  gazed,  those  who 
surrounded  Cimarron  observed  signs  of  returning  hfe. 
This  revival  of  the  stricken  one  bred  sorrow  in  the 
Ogallala  heart ;  not  because  of  an  innate  inhumanity, 
but,  as  events  had  adjusted  themselves,  it  would  have 
been  better  had  Mr.  Jenkins  extinguished  Cimarron. 
There  is  that  unwritten  jurisprudence  of  the  gun ;  and 
the  politer,  not  to  say  more  honourable,  technicahties 
were  peculiarly  on  the  side  of  Cimarron.     If  the  story 


S22  THE  SUNSET  TBAIL 

wefe  sent  abroad  it  would  serve  for  the  discredit  of  ^  f gal- 
lala;  and  a  western  town  is  as  nervously  concemei  for 
its  good  fame  as  any  woman.  Hence  the  popular*  s^lness 
over  Cimarron's  restoration. 

Acting  for  the  best  under  circumstances  so  discos /rag- 
ing, the  public,  first  caring  for  Cimarron's  pistol  in 
order  to  preserve  a  future's  quiet,  formally  placed  him 
under  arrest.  Then,  since  Ogallala  had  no  jail  and  be- 
cause he  lay  wounded  to  helplessness,  he  was'  conveyed  to 
the  Midland,  and  ]Mr.  Smart  detailed  to  hold'  him  pris- 
oner. In  these  steps  it  is  believed  that  Ogallala  planned 
nothing  beyond  a  version  of  the  affair  that  should  bear 
upon  its  own  repute  as  lightly  as  it  might.  Beyond 
saving  its  skirts  from  criticism,  it  would  restore  Cimar- 
ron to  a  pristine  health,  and  finish  by  devising  ways  and 
means,  honourable  of  course  to  Ogallala,  for  letting  him 
go  free. 

When  the  doctor  had  tied  up  the  three  finger-stumps 
of  Mr.  Jenkins,  he  repaired  to  the  Midland  and  picked 
the  shot — number  eight,  they  Avere — out  of  Cimarron. 
Following  these  improvements,  the  latter  called  for  a 
drink ;  then,  addressing  himself  to  ]\Ir.  Smart,  he  ex- 
hausted invective  upon  Ogallala  and  her  manner  towards 
sojourners  within  her.  limits. 

Cimarron  Bill  was  still  in  bed  and  still  reviling  Ogal- 
lala when  Mr.  Masterson  was  given  a  recount  of  his 


THE  RESCUE  OF  CIMARRON  BILL     323 

troubles.  Aside  from  their  several  years  of  friendship, 
it  chanced  in  times  gone'  by  that  during  a  dance-hall 
rumpus  at  Tascosa,  Cimarron  Bill  had  stood  over  Mr. 
Masterson,  on  the  floor  with  a  bullet-shattered  knee,  and 
ivith  six-shooters  spitting  fire  held  the  crowded  foe  at 
bay.  This,  according  to  the  religion  of  Mr.  Master- 
son,  made  a  claim  upon  his  gratitude  which  would  last 
ivhile  Cimarron  lived.  Wherefore,  and  because  a 
Western  gratitude  is  never  passive,  Mr.  jMasterson  no 
sooner  heard  of  Cimarron's  plight  than  he  started  to  his 
relief. 

Since  he  must  go  by  roundabout  trails,  it  was  pre- 
cisely one  week  from  the  day  of  Cimarron's  battle  with 
Mr.  Jenkins  before  Mr,  Masterson  drew  into  Oc:allala, 
and  wrote  "William  Brown,  Haj^s  City,"  in  the  account 
book  wliich  the  Midland  employed  in  lieu  of  a  more 
formal  register.  Also,  Mr.  iMasterson  developed  an 
unusual  fastidiousness,  and  asked  to  be  shown  the  rooms^ 
before  one  was  assigned  him.  The  request  being  com- 
plied with,  Mr.  Masterson  in  his  ramble  located  Cimar- 
ron's room  by  locating  INIr.  Smart,  who  stood  or  rather 
sat  on  guard  at  the  door — for  i\Ir.  Smart  had  brought 
out  a  chair  to  comfort  his  watch  and  ward — and  chose 
the  room  next  to  it. 

"Thar's  a  prisoner  in  thar,"  doubtfully  observed  the 
proprietor  of  the  ^Midland,  who  was  acting  as  guide  to 


&M  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Mr.  Masterson's  investigations,  "an'  as  he  mostly  cusses 
all  night,  he  may  disturb  you." 

"Disturb  me?"  repeated  the  bogus  Mr.  Bro\vTi. 
"Never !  I  know  of  nothing  more  soothing  to  the  slum- 
bers of  an  honest  man  than  the  liowls  of  the  wicked  under 
punishment." 

Being  installed,  Mr.  Masterson's  earliest  care  was  to 
provide  himself  with  a  demijohn  of  Midland  whiskey; 
for  he  had  noted  an  encarmined  nose  as  a  facial  prop- 
erty of  Mr.  Smart,  and  that  florid  feature  inspired  a 
plan.  There  would  be  a  train  from  the  West  at  three 
o'clock  A.  M. ;  it  was  now  two  o'clock  P.  M.  This  would 
give  Mr.  Masterson  thirteen  hours  wherein  to  ripen  his 
device ;  and  thirteen  is  a  fortunate  number  ! 

When  Mr.  Masterson  passed  Mr.  Smart  in  the  hall, 
bearing — as  the  Greeks  bore  gifts — that  engaging  demi- 
john, he  spake  caoually  yet  pleasantly  with  Mr.  Smart; 
and  next,  after  a  fasliion  perfect  in  the  West,  he  in- 
vited IMr.  Smart  to  sample  those  wares  which  the  demi- 
john contained.  Mr.  Smart  tasted,  and  said  it  was  the 
Midland's  best.  Upon  this  promising  discovery  jVIr. 
Masterson  proposed  a  second  libation,  which  courtesy 
Mr.  Smart  embraced. 

Mr.  Masterson  apoligised  to  Mr.  Smart  for  a 
thoughtlessness  that  had  asked  him  to  drink  with  a  total 
stranger.     He  made  himself  known  to  Mr.   Smart  as 


THE  RESCUE  OF  CIMARRON  BILL     325 

"Mr.  Brown  of  Hays."  Mr.  Masterson  remarked  that 
he  would  go  abroad  in  Ogallala  about  the  transaction  of 
what  mythical  business  had  brought  him  to  its  shores. 
Meanwhile,  the  demijohn  was  just  inside  his  door. 
Would  Mr.  Smart  do  liim  the  honour  to  cheer  hjs  vigils 
with  such  references  to  the  demijohn  as  it  might  please 
him  to  make.'' 

Mr.  Masterson  was  about  to  depart  when  a  volley  of 
bad  words  was  heard  to  issue  from  Cimarron's  room. 
The  voice  was  strong  and  full,  and  fraught  of  a  fine 
resolution ;  this  delighted  Mr.  Masterson  as  showing 
Cimarron  to  be  in  no  sort  near  the  door  of  death.  A 
second  volley  climbed  the  transom  to  reverberate  along 
the  hall,  and  Mr.  IMasterson,  jerking  the  thumb  of  in- 
quiry, asked: 

"Any  gent  with  him.f"' 

"No,"  responded  Mr.  Smart,  leering  amiably,  albeit 
indefinitely,  "no;  he's  plumb  alone.  He's  jes'  swearin' 
at  a  mark." 

When  Mr.  IVIasterson  returned  he  found  Mr.  Smart 
blurred  and  incoherent.  It  was  no  part  of  Mr.  Master- 
son's  policy  to  reduce  Mr.  Smart  to  a  condition  which' 
should  alarm  the  caution  of  Ogallala,  and  cause  it  to  re- 
lieve his  guard.  Mr.  Smart  was  the  man  for  the  place; 
to  preserve  him  therein,  ]Mr.  Masterson  withdrew  the 
demijohn  from  circulation. 


826  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

]Mr.  Smart,  even  througli  the  liappy  mists  wliich  en- 
veloped him,  spoke  well  of  this  step.  After  supper,  the 
demijolm  could  be  recalled.  The  friendship  wliich  Mr. 
Smart  and  Mr.  Masterson  had  conceived  for  one  an- 
other might  then  be  expanded,  and  its  foundation  deep- 
ened and  secured.  Thus  sufficiently  If  not  dlstinctlv 
spake  Mr.  Smart;  and  Mr.  Masterson  coincided  with 
him  at  every  angle  of  his  argument. 

It  was  nine  o'clock,  and  supper  had  been  over  two 
hours  when  Mr.  Masterson  again  sought  ]Mr.  Smart  at 
that  gentleman's  post  in  the  hall.  ]\Ir.  Masterson  had 
much  to  talk  about.  The  more  he  had  seen  of  Offallala 
the  better  he  liked  it.  As  for  Mr.  Smart,  he  was  among 
Ogallala's  best  features.  It  had  become  ]Mr.  Masterson's 
purpose  to  go  into  business  In  Ogallala.  Possessing 
boundless  capital,  he  would  engage  in  every  scheme  of 
commerce  from  a  general  outfitting  store  to  a  corral. 
IMr.  Smart  should  be  with  him  in  these  enterprises.  Wliile 
Mr.  jMasterson  dilated,  Mr.  Smart  drank,  and  the  pleas- 
ant character  of  the  evening  was  conceded  by  both. 

At  one  A.  M.  Mr.  JMasterson  supported  !Mr.  Smart  to 
his  cot  in  Cimarron's  room.  The  invalid  roused  him- 
self to  say  more  bad  words  of  both  Mr.  Smart  and  ]\Ir. 
Masterson ;  for  the  room  being  unlighted,  he  assailed 
Mr.  Masterson  ignorantly  and  in  the  dark.  IMr.  Smart 
no  sooner  felt  the  cot  beneath  liim  than  he  fell  into  deep 


THE  RESCUE  OF  CIMARRON  BILL     327 

sleep,  and  his  snorings  shook  the  casements  like  a  strong 
wind. 

At  half  after  two  Mr.  jNIasterson  stepped  confidently 
into  Cimarron's  room.    He  found  jVIr.  Smart  as  soundly 
asleep  as   a  corpse.      INIr.   Masterson   shook   Cimarron  j 
gently  by  the  shoulder :  \ 

"Steady !"  he  whispered. 

*'Is  that  you,  Bat?"  Cimarron  asked,  coming  at  once 
to  an  understanding  of  things. 

"Plow  hard  are  you  hit  ?"  asked  Mr.  Masterson.  "Can 
you  walk?" 

"I'm  too  stiff  and  sore  for  that." 

*'Then  it's  a  case  of  carry." 

It  was  within  five  minutes  of  the  train.  ]Mr.  Master- 
son  wrapped  the  wounded  Cimarron  in  the  bed-clothes; 
thus  disguised  he  resembled  a  long  roll  of  gray  army 
blankets. 

Being  a  powerful  man,  ]\Ir.  IMasterson  tossed  Cimar- 
ron over  his  shoulder,  and  started  down  the  stair.  The 
injured  one  ground  his  teeth  with  the  anguish  of  it, 
but  was  as  mute  as  a  fox.  There  was  still  a  drunken 
voice  or  two  in  the  barroom  of  the  Midland,  but  Mr. 
Masterson — who  had  looked  over  the  route  in  the  after- 
noon— eliminated  whatever  risk  existed  of  meeting  any- 
one by  making  for  a  side  door. 

Once  in  the  dark  street,  by  circuitous  paths,  IMr.  Mas- 


328  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

terson  sought  the  station.  He  did  not  go  to  the  depot 
proper,  but  found  a  place  a  httle  distance  up  the  track, 
where  the  smoking-car  would  stop.  Also,  he  took  the  side 
opposite  to  that  on  which  passengers  got  on  and  off 
the  train.  There  he  waited  in  the  deep  shadow  of  a  line 
of  freight  cars,  supporting  the  drooping  Cimarron 
against  the  nearest  car.  The  two  were  in  time;  Mr. 
Masterson  could  see  the  headlight,  and  hear  the  scream 
of  the  engine. 

The  express  swept  in  and  stopped ;  by  the  best  of  best 
fortunes  the  forward  platform  of  the  smoking-car 
paused  squarely  in  front  of  Mr.  Masterson  and  Cimar- 
ron. Cautiously  Mr.  Masterson  picked  up  his  charge 
and  placed  him  upon  the  topmost  step.  Then  he  swung 
himself  aboard  and  made  ready  to  drag  Cimarron  inside. 
The  latter  met  the  situation  in  a  manner  excessively  limp 
and  compliant ;  for  all  liis  iron  nerve,  he  had  fainted. 

As  Mr.  Masterson  bent  over  Cimarron,  some  unau- 
thorized person  came  from  out  the  darkness. 
"Whom  have  you  got  there?" 

I       As  the  one  in  search  of  knowledge  hove  in  reach,  IMr. 

.  Masterson  smote  him  upon  the  head  with  his  heavy  eight- 
inch  pistol.  The  inquiring  one  went  over  backward,  and 
Mr.  Masterson  was  pleased  to  see  that  he  fell  free  of 
the  wheels.  Yes,  it  was  right ;  the  unknown  had  sinned 
the  sin  of  an  untimely  curiosity. 


THE  RESCUE  OF  CIMARRON  BILL    329 

The  engine  wliistled,  the  train  moved,  and  Mr.  Mas- 
terson  packed  the  unconscious  Cimarron  into  the  car 
and  placed  him  in  the  nearest  seat.  There  were  half  a 
dozen  passengers  scattered  about ;  all  were  soundly  slum- 
bering. Mr.  Masterson  drew  a  breath  of  relief,  and 
wiped  liis  face ;  for  the  night  was  an  August  night  and 
the  work  had  been  hot.  Then  he  rearranged  Cimarron's 
blankets,  and  threw  a  cupful  of  water  in  his  face  by  way 
of  restorative.  That,  and  the  breeze  through  the  lifted 
window,  caused  Cimarron  to  open  his  eyes. 

*'Give  me  some  wliiskey." 

Mr.  Masterson  looked  conscience-stricken. 

*'I  forgot  the  whiskey  !'* 

*'Forgot  the  whiskey!"  repeated  Cimarron,  in  feeble 
scom.  "What  kind  of  a  rescue  party  do  you  call  this.'* 
I'd  sooner  have  stayed  where  I  was !  Besides,  I  had  it 
laid  out  how  I'd  finish  shootin'  up  that  Jenkins  party  the 
moment  I  could  totter  over  to  the  Sheaf  of  Wheat." 

Mr.  Masterson,  to  whom  the  petulance  of  the  sick 
was  as  nothing,  vouchsafed  no  return,  and  Cimarron 
sank  back  exhausted. 

When  the  conductor  appeared,  the  wary  Mr.  Master- 
son  met  that  functionary  in  the  car  door. 

"Got  any  children?"  asked  Mr.  Masterson. 

"Five,"  said  the  conductor,  whom  it  is  superfluous  to 
say  was  a  married  man ;  "five ;  an'  another  in  the  shops." 


S30  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

"The  reason  I  ask,"  observed  ]Mr.  Masterson,  "Is  that 
Tay  brotlicr  over  there  has  measles,  and  I  wouldn't  want 
you  to  go  packing  it  back  to  your  babies.  I  have  to 
wrap  him  up  to  keep  him  from  catching  cold.  The  doC' 
tor  said  that  if  he  ever  caught  cold  once  we'd  have  some 
fun." 

While  Mr.  Masterson  was  exploring  Ogallala  and  per- 
fecting his  scheme  of  rescue,  he  had  purchased  tickets  to 
Grand  Island!  He  bought  tickets  to  Grand  Island  be- 
cause he  intended  to  get  off  at  North  Platte ;  the  ticket- 
buying  was  a  ruse  and  meant  to  break  the  trail.  The 
conductor,  as  he  received  Mr.  ]\Iasterson's  tickets, 
thanked  him  for  his  forethought  In  defending  Ills  chil- 
dren from  the  afflicted  brother. 

*'I'm  a  father  myself,"  said  I\Ir.  INIasterson,  who  in 
amplification  of  any  strategy  was  ever  ready  to  round 
off  one  mendacity  with  another. 

The  dawn  was  showing  when  the  train  drew  In  at 
North  Platte.  Shouldering  the  helpless  Cimarron,  ]Mr. 
Masterson  stepped  onto  the  deserted  station  platform. 
Cimarron  gave  a  querulous  groan. 

"Where  be  you  p'intin'  out  for  now.^"  he  demanded. 
*'I'm  gettin'  a  heap  tired  of  this  rescue.  It's  too  long, 
an'  besides  it's  too  toomultuous." 

*'Tired  or  no,"  responded  ]\Ir.  Masterson,  steadily, 
**you're  going  to  be  rescued  just  the  same." 


THE  RESCUE  OF  CIMARRON  BILL     331 

The  Cocliino  Colorow  was  a  gentleman  whose  true 
name  was  Mr.  Cooper.  He  had  been  rebaptised  as  the 
"Cochino  Colorow,"  which  means  the  "Red  Hog,"  by  the 
IMexicans  and  the  Apaches  when  he  was  a  scout  for  Gen- 
eral Crook,  and  about  the  time  the  latter  gained  from 
the  same  sources  liis  own  title  of  the  "Gray  Fox." 

Mr.  Cooper  was  not  heralded  as  the  Cochino  Colorow 
because  of  any  aggressive  gluttonies ;  but  he  was  round 
and  with  a  deal  of  jowl,  and  suffered  from  a  nose  that, 
colour  and  contour,  looked  like  the  ace  of  hearts.  Be- 
sides, Mr.  Cooper  had  red  hair.  These  considerations 
induced  the  IMexicans  and  Apaches  to  arise  as  one  man 
and  call  him  the  Cochino  Colorow ;   and  the  name  stuck. 

Mr.  Masterson  and  the  Cocliino  Colorow  had  been 
fellow  scouts  under  the  wise  Ben  Clark  when  the  latter 
guided  the  Black  Kettle  wanderings  of  General  Custer. 
Since  then  the  Cochino  Colorow  had  adopted  more  peace- 
ful pursuits  as  proprietor  of  the  Bank  Exchange  in 
North  Platte,  and  on  the  morning  when  ]Mr.  Masterson, 
with  Cimarron  over  his  shoulder  like  a  sack  of  oats,  came 
seeking  him,  he  was  a  familiar  as  well  as  a  foremost 
figure  of  that  commonwealth. 

The  Bank  Exchange  was  almost  empty  of  customers 
when  Mr.  IMasterson  and  liis  burden  arrived;  a  few  all- 
night  souls  were  still  sleepily  about  a  faro  table,  and 
the  Cocliino  Colorow  liimself  was  behind  the  box. 


832  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

"Hello,  Bat!"  exclaimed  the  Cochino  Colorow,  mani- 
festly surprised,  and  turning  the  box  on  its  side  to  show 
a  recess  in  the  deal.  "Where  in  the  name  of  Santa  Ana 
do  you  come  from?    What's  that  you're  totin'?" 

"I'm  totin'  a  friend,"  replied  Mr.  Masterson. 

The  Cochino  Colorow  hastily  assigned  a  talented  per- 
son who  was  keeping  the  case,  to  deal  the  interrupted 
game,  while  he  in  person  waited  upon  the  wants  of  the 
fugitives.  Mr.  Masterson  told  the  story  of  their  adven- 
tures to  the  Cochino  Colorow. 

"And  for  all  my  walking  in  the  water  about  those 
tickets,"  concluded  Mr.  Masterson,  "I'm  afraid  the 
Ogallala  outfit  will  cross  up  with  us  before  ever  I  can 
freight  Cimarron  Into  Dodge.  The  moment  that  drimk- 
ard  Smart  conies  to,  or  the  rest  of  'em  find  they're  shy 
Cimarron,  they'll  just  about  take  to  lasliing  and  back- 
lashing  the  situation  with  the  telegraph,  and  I  figure 
they'll  cut  our  trail." 

"Which  if  they  should,"  confidently  returned  the 
Cochino  Colorow,  "we'll  stand  'em  off  all  right.  Between 
us,  I'm  the  whole  check-rack  in  Norih  Platte." 

Mr.  Masterson's  fears  were  justified.  As  early  as  the 
afternoon  of  the  same  day,  i\Ir.  Sopris  and  a  companion, 
•whom  Mr.  Masterson,  because  of  the  handkerclilef  wliich 
bound  his  brows,  suspected  to  be  the  inquisitive  one, 
walked  into  the  Bank  Exchange.    Mr.]Masterson  and  the 


THE  RESCUE  OF  CIMARRON  BILL     333 

Cochino  Colorow  had  remarked  their  approach  from  a 
window  wliile  they  were  yet  two  blocks  away. 

"Is  either  of  'em  that  Jenkins  crim'nal?"  asked  the 
Cocliino  Colorow. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Masterson. 

"I'm  shore  sorry,"  rephed  the  Cocliino  Colorow.  "If 
one  of  'em  now  was  that  Jenkins  crim'nal,  we'd  nacher- 
ally  prop  pore  Cimarron  up  by  this  yere  window,  an' 
let  liim  have  a  crack  at  liim  with  my  Winchester." 

The  Cochino  Colorow  suggested  that  Mr.  Masterson 
retire  to  the  room  where  lay  the  invalid  Cimarron.  He 
said  that  he  could  best  treat  with  the  visitors  alone. 

Cimarron  was  tossing  to  and  fro  on  a  couch  in  a  cub- 
by-hole of  an  apartment  immediately  to  the  rear  of  the 
Bank  Exchange  bar.  Since  the  intervening  partition 
was  of  pine  boards,  an  inch  for  thickness,  what  passed 
between  the  Cochino  Colorow  and  the  invaders  fell 
plainly  upon  the  listening  ears  of  Mr.  Masterson  and 
Cimarron. 

The  \dsitors  laid  bare  their  mission.  The}'  set  forth 
the  escape  of  Cimarron ;  and  wliile  they  would  not  pre- 
tend that  Ogallala  hungered  to  destroy  that  individual, 
they  did  urge  a  loss  to  the  Ogallala  honour  if  he  were 
permitted  to  walk  off  in  a  manner  of  open,  careless  inso- 
lence. 

"It  ain't  what  this  Cimarron  does,"  explained  Mr. 


334  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Soprls ;  "it  ain't  that  he's  done  more'n  shoot  away  three 
of  Jenks'  fingirs,  an'  as  they  was  on  the  left  hand,  they 
may  well  be  spared.  What  Ogallala  objects  to  is  the 
manner  of  this  person's  escape.  It  not  only  puts  'Mr. 
Smart  in  the  hole,  speshul,  but  it  reflects  on  Ogallala 
for  boss  sense." 

*'Well,  gents,"  returned  the  Cocliino  Colorow  with  cool 
nonchalajice,  "you  can't  expect  me  to  bother  myse'f  to 
death  about  what  comes  off  in  Ogallala.  Which, 
speakin'  general,  I'm  that  numbed  by  my  own  misfor- 
tunes, I  don't  care  much  what  happens,  so  it  don't  hap- 
pen to  me." 

"It  wasn't,"  retorted  Mr.  Sopris,  "tliat  we  allowed 
you'd  feel  a  heap  concerned,  but  we  got  a  p'inter  that 
you're  harborin'  these  yere  felons  personal." 

*'Is  that  so?"  observed  the  Cocliino  Colorow,  assuming 
airs  of  chill  dignity.  "Gents,  since  you  impugns  my 
integrity,  my  only  word  is,  'Make  your  next  move.' '' 

"Our  next  move,"  observed  IMr.  Sopris,  "will  be  to 
go  squanderin'  about  into  the  uttermost  corners  of  this 
yere  deadfall,  an'  search  out  our  game." 

"Shore!"  exclaimed  the  Cochino  Colorow,  picking  up 
a  rifle  tliat  stood  in  the  corner.  "An'  bein'  plumb  timid 
that  a-way,  of  course  I'll  neither  bat  an  eye  nor  wag  a 
year  ag'in  the  outrage." 

The  Cochino  Colorow  cocked  the  Winchester.      Mr. 


THE  RESCUE  OF  CIMARRON  BILL     335 

Sopris  shook  Ills  head,  as  might  one  whose  good  nature 
had  been  abused. 

"That's  plenty !"  said  Mr.  Sopris.  "Since  sech  Is 
your  attitoode  of  voylence,  we  jest  won't  search  this 
joint." 

"No,  I  don't  reckon  none  you  will,"  retorted  the 
Cochino  Colorow,  fingering  the  Winchester.  "You  two 
delegates  from  Ogallala  had  better  hit  the  trail  for  home. 
An'  don't  you  never  come  pirootin'  into  North  Platte 
searchin'  for  things  no  more." 

Mr.  Masterson  and  Cimarron  overheard  this  conver- 
sation, and  the  dialogue  so  affected  the  latter  that  Mr. 
Masterson  had  his  work  cut  out  to  keep  him  in  his 
blankets.  As  the  colloquy  ended  and  the  retreating  foot- 
falls told  the  departure  of  the  committee  from  Ogallala, 
Cimarron,  sore,  sick  and  exhausted,  turned  his  face  to 
the  wall  with  a  sigh  of  shame. 

"Bat,"  he  said,  pleadingly,  "would  you  mind  leavln' 
the  room  a  moment  while  I  blush .?"  Then  he  continued 
while  his  tears  flowed:  "We're  a  fine  pair  of  centipedes 
to  lie  bunched  up  in  yere  while  the  Red  Hog  plays  our 
hands!" 

"They  were  only  four-flushing,"  said  Mr.  Master- 
son,  soothingly,  by  way  of  consolation. 

In  the  corral  to  the  rear  of  the  Bank  Exchange  stood 
a  ramshackle  phaeton,  which  was  one  of  the  sights  that 


336  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

North  Platte  showed  to  tourists.  This  conveyance  be- 
longed to  the  mother-in-law  of  the  Cocliino  Colorow. 
The  lady  in  question,  who  was  of  a  precise,  inveterate 
temper,  was  in  the  East  visiting  relatives,  and  the  Co- 
chino  Colorow,  after  sundry  drinks  to  convey  his  cour- 
age to  the  needed  height,  endowed  Mr.  Masterson  and 
Cimarron  with  the  phaeton  to  assist  them  in  a  cross- 
country break  for  Dodge.  After  this  generous  act  the 
Cochino  Colorow  was  troubled  in  spirit. 

"I'll  fight  Injuns  for  fun,"  explained  the  Cochino 
Colorow,  defensively  to  Mr.  Masterson,  "but  whether 
you  deems  me  weak  or  not,  I  simply  shudders  when  I 
tliink  of  my  said  mother-in-law  an'  what  she'll  say  about 
that  bugg3^  But  what  could  w^e-all  do?  Cimarron  has 
got  to  vamos.  Them  Ogallala  sharps  will  most  likely  be 
showin'  up  to-morry  with  a  warrant  an'  a  comp'ny  of 
milishj'',  an'  that  vehicle  is  the  one  avenoo  of  escape. 
While  her  language  will  be  mighty  intemperate,  still, 
in  the  cause  of  friendship,  a  gent  must  even  face  his 
mother-in-law." 

"What  do  you  reckon  she'll  do?'*  asked  ^Mr.  Master- 
son,  who  was  not  a  little  disturbed  by  the  evident  peril 
of  the  good  Cochino  Colorow.  "Mebby  Cimarron  had 
better  give  himself  up." 

*'No,"  replied  the  desperate  one.  "It  shall  never  be 
eaid  that  anything,  not  even  a  well-grounded  fear  of 


THE  RESCUE  OF  CIMARRON  BILL     337 

that  esteemable  lady  whom  I  honours  onder  the  endearin' 
name  of  mother-in-law,  could  keep  me  from  rushin'  with 
her  phaeton  to  the  rescue  of  a  friend  beset." 

The  Cocliino  Colorow  roped  and  brought  up  a  mud- 
hued,  ewe-necked,  hammer-headed  beast  of  burden,  and 
said  its  name  was  Julius  Caesar.  This  animal,  wliich  had 
a  genius  for  bolting  one  moment  and  backing  up  the 
next,  he  hooked  to  the  phaeton.  Cimarron,  whose  help- 
lessness was  not  of  the  hands,  could  hold  the  reins  and 
guide  Julius  Caesar.  Mr.  Masterson  would  ride  a  pinto 
pony  furnished  by  the  generous  partisanship  of  the 
Cocliino  Colorow.  It  would  take  a  week  to  make  Dodge, 
and  a  week's  provisions,  solid  and  liquid,  were  loaded 
into  the  phaeton. 

The  faithful  Cochino  Colorow  rode  with  them  on  a 
favourite  sorrel  as  far  as  Antelope  Springs.  Arriving 
at  that  water,  he  bade  the  travellers  farewell. 

"Good  luck  to  3'ou,"  cried  the  Cochino  Colorow,  wav- 
ing a  fraternal  hand.  "Give  my  regyards  to  Wright 
an'  Kell  an'  Short." 

"I  hope  you  won't  have  trouble  with  that  outfit  from 
Ogallala,"  returned  Mr.  Masterson. 

The  Cochino  Colorow  snapped  his  fingers. 

"Since  my  mind's  took  to  runnin'  on  my  mother-in- 
law,"  he  said,  "I've  done  quit  worryin'  about  sech  jim- 
crow  propositions." 


838  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

And  thus  tlicy  parted. 

It  was  a  week  later  when  ]\Ir.  Mastcrson  and  the  res- 
cued one  made  Dodge.  When  he  had  seen  the  suffering 
Cimarron  safely  in  bed  at  the  Wright  House,  Mr.  Mas- 
terson  began  looking  after  liis  own  welfare  at  the  Long 
Branch. 

"You  cert'nly  had  a  strenuous  time,  Bat,"  observed 
Mr.  Short,  sympatheticaJly. 

"Strenuous !"  repeated  ]Mr.  Masterson.  "I  should  say- 
as  much!  Cimarron  was  as  ugly  as  a  sorer-head  dbg,  and 
wanted  evei-ything  he  could  think  of  from  a  sandwich  to 
a  six-shooter.  I  was  never  so  worn  to  a  frazzle.  It  was 
certainly,"  concluded  Mr.  Masterson,  replenisliing  his 
glass,  "the  most  arduous  rescue  in  wliich  I  ever  took  a 
hand;  and  we'd  have  never  pulled  it  off  if  it  hadii't  been 
for  the  Cochino  Colorow.  Here's  hoping  he  can  square 
himself  with  tliat  relative  he  robbed.  She's  as  sour  as  pig- 
nuts, and  I  don't  feel  altogether  easy  about  tlie  Cochino 
Colorow.  However,  if  the  lady  puts  up  too  rough  a  deal, 
I  told  him  he'd  find  a  ready-made  asylum  here." 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE  WORRIES  OF  MR.  HOLIDAY. 

T  Avas  growing  dark  in  California  Gulch.  R&d 
Jack,  the  barkeeper  of  the  Four  Flush  saloon, 
began  to  light  up  one  by  one  the  kerosene  lamps, 
so  that  the  Four  Flush  might  be  made  resplendent 
against  the  advent  of  its  evening  customers.  Just  then 
the  customers  were  at  flap-jacks  and  bacon,  for  it  was 
supper  time  in  California  Gulch.  Having  rendered  the 
Four  Flush  a  blaze  of  expectant  glory.  Red  Jack  took  a 
rag  and  mopped  the  bar,  already  painfully  clean.  Then 
he  shifted  the  two  six-shooters,  which  were  part  of  the 
concealed  furniture  of  the  bar,  so  that  vagrant  drops 
from  careless  glasses  might  not  bespatter  them. 

Commonly,  Red  Jack  consoled  himself  by  whistHng 
the  "Mocking  Bird"  at  this  hour,  when  the  stones  of  the 
Four  Flush  were  grinding  low.  On  this  particular  even- 
ing he  was  mute.  Also  his  glance,  when  now  and  then 
he  cast  it  upon  Mr.  Masterson  and  Mr.  Hohday,  who 

839 


340  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

were  engaged  in  whispered  converse  over  a  monte 
table  just  across  the  room,  showed  full  of  decorous 
interest. 

Not  that  Red  Jack  objected  to  Mr.  Masterson  and 
Mr.  Holiday  holding  a  conference  on  the  premises.  It 
was  plain  by  the  respectful  softness  of  his  eye  that  he 
dwelt  in  sympathy  therewith,  and  was  only  restrained 
from  making  a  third  for  the  pow-wow  by  an  experience 
which  taught  him  never  to  volunteer  advice  or  put  a 
question.  Patronage  and  curiosity  are  crimes  in  the 
West,  and  ones  sophisticated  will  not  risk  their  com- 
missions. 

However,  Red  Jack  might,  without  violating  the 
canons  of  his  tribe  and  region,  relieve  himself  with  one 
act  of  amiable  politeness.  While  he  could  not  have  a 
share  in  the  talk  between  Mr.  Masterson  and  Mr.  Holi- 
day, wanting  an  invitation  to  join  them  therein,  he  was 
free  to  provide  the  inspiration.  Wherefore  Red  Jack 
brought  a  bottle  and  two  glasses,  and  set  them  between 
Mr.  Masterson  and  Mr.  Holiday.  Having  thus  made 
himself  one  with  them  in  spirit.  Red  Jack  left  the  pair 
to  themselves,  and  made  the  rounds  of  the  lamps  to  turn 
down  ones  which  in  a  primary  exuberance  had  begun  to 
smoke. 

"It's  tough  hnes.  Bat,"  said  Mr.  Holiday,  as  he 
poured   himself  a  drink.      "I've  never  done   anything 


THE  WORRIES  OF  MR.  HOLIDAY        341 

worse  than  clown  a  man,  always  a  Avarrior  at  that,  and 
now  to  have  to  rustle  a  party,  even  when  it  isn't  on  the 
level,  comes  plenty  hard." 

"But  it's  the  one  tiling  to  do,  Doc,"  returned  Mr. 
Masterson.  Mr.  Holiday  had  been  a  dentist  in  liis  na- 
tive Georgia,  and  liis  intimates  called  him  Doc.  "It's 
the  only  trail,"  reiterated  Mr.  Masterson.  "The  mes- 
sage says  that  they  start  to-day  from  Tucson.  They'll 
be  in  Denver  day  after  to-morrow.  The  only  way  to 
beat  them  is  to  have  you  under  arrest.  Our  Governor 
won't  give  up  a  man  to  Arizona  who's  wanted  here  at 
home.  Those  reward-hungry  sports  from  Tucson  will 
get  turned  down,  and  meanwhile  you  will  be  on  bail. 
That  Arizona  outfit  can  never  take  you  away  while  a 
charge  is  pending  against  you  in  Colorado.  You'll  be 
safe  for  life." 

"That  wouldn't  be  for  long,"  returned  Mr.  Holiday, 
"at  the  rate  my  lungs  are  losing." 

Mr.  Holiday  was  in  the  grasp  of  consumption,  as  one 
might  tell  by  the  sunken  chest  and  hollow  eye,  even 
without  the  cough  which  was  never  long  in  coming.  It 
was  this  malady  of  the  lungs  which  had  brought  him 
West  in  the  beginning. 

"On  the  whole,"  objected  Mr.  Holiday,  following  a 
moment  of  thought,  "why  not  go  back  to  Arizona  and 
be  tried.^     It's  four  to  one  they  couldn't  convict;  and 


S42  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

I've  gone  against  worse  odds  than  tliat  every  day  since 
I  was  born." 

"]\Ian !"  expostulated  Mr.  Masterson,  "it  would  never 
come  to  trial.  You  wouldn't  get  as  far  as  Albuquerque. 
Some  of  the  band  would  board  the  train  and  shoot  you 
in  the  car-seat —  kill  you,  as  one  might  say,  on  the  nest ! 
It  isn't  as  though  you  were  to  have  a  square  deal. 
They'd  get  you  on  the  train :  get  ji'ou  with  your  guns  off, 
too,  for  you'd  be  under  arrest.  Doc,  you  wouldn't  last  as 
long  as  a  pint  of  whiskey  at  a  barn-raising." 

Mr.  Masterson  spoke  with  earnestness.  His  brow  was 
wise  and  wide,  his  cool  eye  the  home  of  counsel.  It  was 
these  traits  of  a  cautious  intelligence  that  had  given  him 
station  among  his  fellows  as  much  as  any  wizard  ac- 
curacy which  belonged  with  his  six-shooters. 

"What  is  your  plan,  then?"  said  Mr.  Holiday. 

"You  see  the  Off  Wheeler  over  yonder.?"  Mr.  Mas- 
terson pointed  to  a  drunken  innocent  who  was  sunk  in 
slumber  in  a  far  conier  of  the  saloon.  The  Off  Wheeler 
having  no  supper  to  eat,  was  taking  it  out  in  sleep. 
"You  go  to  the  edge  of  the  camp,"  continued  Mr.  Mas- 
terson. "When  you've  had  time  to  place  yourself,  I'll 
wake  up  the  Off  Wheeler  and  tell  him  to  take  my  watch 
to  the  Belle  Union.  You  stand  him  up  and  get  it.  Then 
I'll  have  him  before  the  alcalde  to  swear  out  a  warrant. 
You  see,  it  will  be  on  the  square  as  far  as  the  Off  Wheeler 


THE  WORRIES  OF  MR.  HOLIDAY        34<3 

is  concerned.  At  the  same  time,  because  we  don't  mean 
it,  it  won't  be  robbery ;  you  can  console  yourself  with 
that.  It'll  be  a  bar  to  those  rcAvard  hunters  from  Tuc- 
son, however,  with  their  infernal  requisition  papers. 
They  ought  to  be  called  assassination,  not  requisition, 
papers,  for  that  is  what  it  would  come  to  if  they  took 
you  from  here.  Now,  do  as  I  tell  you,  Doc ;  j^our  friends 
will  understand." 

Mr.  Holiday  pulled  his  sombrero  over  his  forehead  and 
went  out.  Ten  minutes  later  Mr.  IMasterson  aroused  the 
Off  Wheeler  by  the  genial  expedient  of  holding  a  glass 
of  whiskey  beneath  his  sleeping  nose.  The  Off  Wheeler, 
under  this  treatment,  revived,  with  all  his  feeble  facul- 
ties, and  drank  the  same.  Then  he  turned  a  vacant  look 
on  Mr.  jNIasterson. 

"Take  my  watch  to  the  Belle  Union,"  observed  Mr. 
Masterson,  giving  the  Off  Wheeler  the  timepiece.  "Give 
it  to  Dick  Darnell  and  tell  him  to  take  care  of  it.  I'm 
going  to  play  poker  to-night,  and  if  I  keep  it  with  me 
it'll  work  its  way  into  a  jack-pot  and  get  lost.  I  go 
crazy  when  I'm  playing  poker,  and  will  bet  the  clothes 
off  my  back." 

The  Off  Wheeler  was  pleased  with  tliis  speech ;  the 
more  since  It  smacked  of  a  friendly  confidence  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Masterson.  To  be  on  even  tenns  with  the 
most    eminent    personage    in    camp    flattered    the    Off 


844  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Wheeler.  He  departed  on  Mr.  Masterson's  errand,  Mr. 
Masterson  having  first  enhvened  his  heels  with  a  five- 
dollar  bill. 

In  twenty  minutes  the  Off  Wheeler  was  back  in  the 
i  Four  Flush,  and  as  well  as  he  might  for  the  chattering 
»  terrors  of  his  teeth  telling  Mr.  IMasterson  how  Mr.  Holi- 
day had  held  him  up  at  the  street  comer  with  one  hand, 
and  confiscated  the  watch  with  the*  other. 

"He  didn't  even  pull  a  gun !"  wailed  the  Off  Wlieeler. 
*'I  wouldn't  feel  it  so  much  if  he  had.  But  to  be  stood 
up,  an'  no  gun-play,  makes  it  look  hke  he  was  tryin' 
to  insult  me." 

"All  right,"  returned  Mr.  Masterson,  preserving  a 
grave  face,  "you  get  a  drink,  and  then  we'll  have  out 
a  warrant  for  that  bandit's  arrest.  We'll  show  him 
that  he  can't  go  through  the  quietest  gent  in  California 
Gulch  and  get  away  unpunished." 

"You  don't  reckon  now,"  observed  the  Off  Wheeler 
faintly,  "that  Mr.  Holiday  would  turn  in  an'  blow  the 
top  off  my  head,  if  I  swore  ag'inst  him,  do  you?" 

"I'll  attend  to  that,"  said  Mr.  Masterson;  "I'll  see 
that  he  doesn't  harm  you." 

Then  the  Off  Wheeler  was  brave  and  comforted;  for 
who  did  not  know  the  word  of  I\Ir.  Masterson.'' 

"It's  all  right,  judge,"  said  Mr.  Masterson. 

The  magistrate,  with  liis  sleeves  rolled  up  from  a  hard 


THE  WORRIES  OF  MR.  HOLIDAY        345 

day's  work  in  his  shaft,  had  been  brought  from  sup- 
per tc  make  out  the  affidavit.  When  he  understood 
for  whom  it  was  designed  he  hesitated  in  a  mj'stified 
way. 

"It's  all  right,"  repeated  Mr.  Masterson.  "Let  the 
Off  Wheeler  swear  to  the  papers ;  I'll  take  the  responsi- 
bility. And,  by  the  way,  you  might  better  authorise  me 
to  execute  the  warrant." 

Thus  it  befell  that  j\Ir.  Holiday  was  presently  brought 
in  by  Mr.  Masterson  on  a  charge  of  robbing,  with  force 
and  anns,  one  Charles  Stackhouse  alias  the  Off 
Wheeler.  The  bail  was  fixed,  and  half  the  men  in  Cali- 
fornia Gulch  went  on  the  bond.  When  these  technicali- 
ties were  complied  with,  Mr.  Masterson,  glancing  at  the 
very  watch  of  wliich  the  Off  Wheeler  had  been  depleted, 
said: 

"Doc,  it's  eight  o'clock.  We've  got  to  get  back  to  the 
Four  Flush.  You  know  we're  to  have  a  game  there  at 
eight- thirty." 

I\Ir.  Holiday,  six  years  before,  had  left  Georgia  for 
the  West.  He  brought  with  him  a  six-shooter,  a  dentist's 
diploma,  a  knowledge  of  cards,  and  a  hacking  cough. 
When  story-tellers  mean  to  kill  a  character  off  without 
giving  him  a  chance,  they  confer  upon  him  a  hacking 
cough.  It  was  true,  however,  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Holi- 
day ;  a  hacking  cough  he  had,  and  whenever  it  seized 


846  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Iilm  it  was  as  though  one  smote  against  his  breastbone 
with  the  bit  of  an  axe. 

In  the  West  Mr.  Holiday's  diploma  would  do  liim 
little  good.  There  lives  no  more  of  Western  call  for  a 
dentist  than  for  one  who  paints  flowers  upon  silks. 
Wherefore,  and  because  Mr.  Holiday  must  dine  and 
drink  until  he  died  of  that  consumption,  he  took  to  cards. 

Now,  cards  make  up  a  commerce  wherein  the  West 
confesses  an  interest.  Mr.  Holiday  became  a  busy  man, 
and  encountered  fortune,  black  and  wliite ;  but  he  never 
complained  until  one  Dallas  evening,  when  a  gentleman 
said  that  he  held  six  cards.  The  game  was  draw  poker, 
and  a  hand  consisting  of  six  cards  would  have  been  an 
inexcusable  vulganty. 

There  was  no  long-dra^^^l  discussion.  The  gentleman 
who  had  mentioned  the  six  cards  cut  off  debate  with  a 
Colt's  pistol.  ]Mr.  Holiday  met  the  situation  half  way, 
and  Dallas  buried  a  foremost  citizen. 

Dallas  blamed  no  one. 
'      *'They  broke  even  as  to  guns,"  said  Dallas,  "and  Joe 
lost." 

From  Dallas  Mr.  Holiday  travelled  into  the  Panhan- 
dle. Perhaps  his  broken  health  made  him  irritable,  or 
possibly  he  was  over-sensitive.  W  hatever  the  argument, 
when  a  rude  spirit,  a  rider  for  the  Frying  Pan  ranch, 
whom  he  met  in  Tascosa,  spoke  of  jMr.  Holiday  as  one 


THE  WORRIES  OF  MR.  HOLIDAY       34T 

who  ought  to  have  been  clerking  in  a  store,  he  promptly 
hived  liim  with  a  bullet  through  his  heart.  Tliis  was 
when  Mr.  Willingham  flourished  as  Sheriff  for  the  Pan- 
handle ;  but  as  that  officer  was  over  towards  Goodnight's 
at  the  time,  no  fault  should  attach  to  him.  Pan- 
handle sentiment,  as  had  that  of  Dallas,  justified  Mr. 
Holiday;  his  critic  had  his  guns  on  when  he  perished, 
and  that  is,  or  should  be,  sufficient  wherever  justice  holds 
the  scales. 

From  the  Panhandle  Mr.  Holiday  migrated  to  Den- 
ver. No  one  packs  a  gun  in  Denver,  at  least  no  gun  big 
enough  to  win  the  respect  of  ]Mr.  Holiday.  Yielding 
to  the  jealousy  of  Denver  touching  pistols,  our  dying 
one  from  Georgia  put  his  irons  aside.  He  felt  lonesome 
without  them,  a  feeling  that  grew  into  disgust  wlien  a 
rough,  having  advantage  of  his  weak  condition,  heaped 
contumely  on  his  head,  Mr.  Holiday  sighed  as  he  drew 
a  knife — it  was  carried  somewhere  between  Ixis  shoul- 
ders— and  altered  the  appearance  of  the  insolent  one  to 
such  a  degree  that  he  was  as  a  stranger  to  his  friends. 

It  was  six  months  later  when  Mr.  Holiday  next 
claimed  attention  by  listlessly  emptying  his  pistol  into 
the  head  of  a  gentleman  who  had  laid  unlawful  claim  to 
a  stack  of  his  chips.  They  were  reposing,  coppered, 
in  what  faro  gamesters  term  the  Big  Square. 

This   homicide,   which   occurred   in   Las   Vegas,   alsa 


348  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

found  popular  endorsement.  Tlie  illicit  action  of  de- 
parted liad  placed  him  beyond  the  pale.  There  is  no 
love  in  the  West  for  rash  or  wicked  ones  who'  illegally 
covet  their  neighbour's  chips.  The  episode  bore  some- 
what upon  Mr.  Holiday,  however,  wlio  had  an  imag- 
ination edged  by  books.    He  was  heard  to  mourn  a  trifle.  -4 

"I  don't  see  what's  the  matter  with  my  luck,"  said 
]VIr.  Holiday,  as  he  arranged  with  an  undertaker  on  the 
Plaza  for  thp  obsequies.  Mr.  Holiday  was  too  well  bred 
to  leave  a  burden  upon  the  community,  and  even  his 
enemies  admitted  that  he  never  failed  to  make  a  proper 
clean-up  aiid  always  buried  liis  dead.  "I  don't  see  what's 
the  matter  with  my  luck,"  repeated  Mr.  Holiday,  "but  it 
looks  as  though  I  had  more  of  this  sort  of  thing  sawed 
off  on  me  than  any  invalid  in  the  Territory." 

*'Tha,t's  what !"  replied  the  undertaker,  sympathetic- 
ally. His  sympathy  in  no  wise  dimmed  the  brilhancy 
of  his  bill,  which  document  did  him  proud. 

Following  that  Las  Vegas  difference,  Mr.  Holiday 
withdrew  to  Tombstone.  It  is  best  for  a  gentleman, 
when  he  has  filled  a  grave  with  one  other  than  him- 
self, to  seek  new  theatres  of  effort.  In  Tombstone, 
foremost  in  the  social  and  business  swirl  of  the  camp, 
Mr.  Holiday  became  acquainted  with  the  brothers  Earp. 
Said  brothers,  being  respectively  Virgil,  Wyatt  and 
Morgan,  were  all  splendid  shots  and  sterling  folk  of 


THE  WORRIES  OF  MR.  HOLIDAY        349 

standing,  character  and  force.  The  brothers  Earp  and 
Mr.  Hohday  became  friends  at  sight.  It  was  as  though 
a  fourth  had  been  born  into  the  Eai^p  family. 

The  East,  supercihous  and  white  of  shirt,  should  avoid 
a  narrow  view  of  Western  men  and  manners.  The  East 
should  not  measure  up  the  West  by  Eastern  standards. 
Wliile  the  West  pays  its  faithful  interest,  and  does  not 
borrow  more  than  one-fifth  of  the  security,  the  East 
should  rest  content.  The  one  is  a  banker,  the  other  a 
warrior ;  one  employs  interest,  the  other  uses  a  gun ; 
both  kill. 

Virgil  Earp  was  marshal  of  Tombstone.  It  was  a 
post  not  wanting  in  vicissitudes,  and  Virgil  Earp's  arm 
had  been  crippled  and  made  as  naught  by  a  shotgun  in 
the  hands  of  an  illwisher.  But  it  was  his  left  arm ;  his 
right,  with  the  hand  that  appertained,  was  all  that  one 
might  ask.  What  more  should  a  Western  marshal  re- 
quire than  a  perfect  pistol  hand  and  eye  to  match? 

Wyatt  and  Morgan  Earp  were  in  the  service  of  tiie 
Express  Company.  They  went  often  as  guards — "rid- 
ing shotgun,"  it  was  called — when  the  stage  bore  un- 
usual treasure. 

Over  in  the  San  Simon  Valley  lived  a  covey  of  cattle 
people,  with  Curly  Bill  at  its  head.  The  cow  business  is 
a  lazy  trade.  It  leaves  plenty  of  idle  time  m  the  hands 
of  ones  who  follow  it.     Those  of  the  San  Simon  were 


350  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

hy  nature  bubbling  springs  of  industry.  Since  the  cattla 
trade  did  not  employ  their  whole  energy,  they  oft  re- 
paired to  a  nearby  trail  and  stopped  the  Tombstone 
stage. 

There  came  an  occasion  when  Curly  Bill  could  not  go 
with  the  expedition,  and  that  was  unfortunate.  He  was 
obliged  to  entrust  the  enterprise  to  subordinates,  who 
bungled  the  affair.  They  shot  the  stage  driver  when 
they  should  have  shot  a  wheeler.  The  reins  fell  from 
the  driver's  dead  hands ;  the  fear-maddened  team  ran 
away  and  carried  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  gold 
from  beneath  the  larcenous  palms  of  the  hold-ups.  In 
their  wrath  the  road  agents  sent  a  volley  after  the  rock- 
ing, reeling,  disappearing  coach.  It  snuffed  out  a  tour- 
ist who  was  riding  outside. 

Four  days  went  by,  and  a  quartette  of  the  San  Simon 
people,  being  the  McLowrie  brothers,  Frank  and  John, 
and  the  Clanton  brothers,  Billy  and  Ike,  came  into  Tomb- 
stone to  spy  out  how  much  was  known  or  guessed  of 
those  desperately  poor  workmen  who  had  so  let  the  stage 
job  fall  through.  The  investigators  discovered  that 
more  wiis  known  than  stood  best  for  their  health.  They 
lost  no  time  in  deciding  to  ride  back  to  the  San  Simon. 

Virgil  Earp  had  made  a  different  plan.  The  San 
Simon,  as  a  region,  would  not  suffer  in  its  respectability 
urere  it  never  again  to  see  a  Clanton  or  a  ]\IcLowrie. 


THE  WORRIES  OF  MR.  HOLIDAY       351! 

With  a  purpose  to  detain  the  San  Simon  delegation, 
Virgil  Earp  assembled  his  kinsmen,  Wyatt  and  Mor- 
gan. To  be  polite,  Virgil  invited  Mr.  Holiday,  then, 
but  a  week  in  Tombstone,  to  have  his  smoky  part 
in  the  coming  war.  He  might  act  with  the  Earp 
household  in  that  proposed  round-up  of  the  road 
agents. 

Virgil  Earp  did  this  in  a  spirit  of  politeness.  It  is 
Western  manners  when  you  have  a  fight  to  make — one 
that  Is  commodious  and  In  which  there  is  room  for  their 
honourable  accommodation — to  invite  your  friends.  This 
you  may  do  to  a  point  that  brings  your  party  even  with 
taie  enemy.  You  must  not,  however,  overtop  the  foe  in 
numbers.  That  would  be  the  worst  of  form,  and  fix  you 
as  coarse  and  low  and  Ignorant  in  ever  refined  mind. 
With  only  a  trio  of  the  Earps,  there  existed  in  the  pend- 
ing engagement  a  reputable  vacancy,  and  Virgil  asked 
Mr.  Holiday  to  fill  it.  ]Mr.  Holiday  accepted.  To  de- 
cline such  a  courtesy  would  want  a  precedent  and  destroy 
one's  good  repute.  Such  action  on  Mr.  Holiday's  part 
would  have  shocked  the  Tombstone  taste,  which  is  as 
silken  as  a  spaniel's  ear. 

The  brothers  Earp  and  Mr.  Holiday  met  the  San 
Simon  outfit  as  the  latter,  mounted  for  the  long  ride, 
came  spurring  forth  of  the  corral.  There  was  no  time 
frittered  in  speech.     The  San  Simon  contingent  jumped 


352  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

from  their  saddles,  each  using  his  horse  as  a  breast- 
work. The  brothers  Earp  and  Mr.  Hohday  liad  no 
horses  to  cover  them.  A  horse  makes  a  good  breast- 
work, but  a  bad  gun-rest. 

Tlie  gods  fouglit  on  the  side  of  the  law,  the  stage 
company,  the  brothers  Earp,  and  ]\Ir.  Holiday.  There  '. 
was  a  rattle  of  six-shooters.  Two  McLowries  and 
one  Clanton  fell  with  bullets  where  their  thoughts  should 
be.  The  smoke  lifted,  and  there  stood  Ike  Clanton  beg- 
ging liis  life. 

"Run  for  it,  then,  you  coyote!"  cried  Wyatt  Earp, 
and  the  supphant  heaved  liimself  into  the  saddle  and 
sped  with  the  fljang  wind. 

"That  was  a  mistake,  Wyatt,"  quoth  Mr.  Holiday ; 
"you  should  have  collected  his  hair."  Mr.  Holiday  was 
far  of  sight;  before  a  week  went  by  events  arose  to 
justify  his  comment. 

After  the  battle  the  brothers  Earp  and  Mr.  Hohday 
repaired  to  the  nearest  saloon  and  refreshed  themselves. 
Then  the  stage  company's  surgeon  came  and  stopped 
up  the  bullet  holes,  whereof  the  four  owned  seven  among 
them.  Tombstone  meanwliile  issued  forth  in  a  body  and  , 
joyfully  planted  the  dead. 

Six  days  later,  having  advantage  of  the  darkness, 
Ike  Clanton,  with  Mr.  Spence,  i\Ir.  Stillwell,  and  one 
Florentine,  a  Mexican,  crept  to  the  rear  window  of  the 


THE  WORRIES  OF  MR.  HOLIDAY        353 

Eureka  saloon,  and  shot  dead  Morgan  Earp,  engaged  at 
seven-up. 

Virgil  and  Wyatt  placed  the  body  of  the  dead  Mor- 
gan in  a  coffin  and,  with  jMr.  Holiday  to  be  of  the 
mourners,  carried  it  to  Colton.  At  Colton.  the 
body  would  take  the  train  for  California,  the  home 
of  the  Earps.  Virgil  would  go  as  company  for  the 
dead. 

Wyatt  Earp  and  Mr.  Holiday  rode  as  far  as  Tucson. 
They  would  have  gone  to  Cahfomia  with  the  dead  Mor- 
gan, but  they  did  not  have  the  time.  It  was  now  their 
duty  to  get  the  scalps  of  the  San  Simon  four  who  had 
worked  the  destruction  of  ^Morgan.  Also,  to  save  their 
reputations  and  secure  their  prey,  they  must  move  at 
once  before  the  trail  grew  cold. 

Fortune  and  luck  were  theirs.  As  the  train,  bearing 
the  dead  ^Morgan,  drew  into  Tucson,  the  hawk-like  gray 
eyes  of  Mr.  Holida}'  showed  him  Messrs.  Stillwell  and 
Clanton  on  the  station  platform.  He  pointed  out  the 
red-hand  ones  to  Wyatt  Earp. 

The  two  swung  from  the  train. 

The  quarry  separated,  Mr.  Clanton  running  craftily 
in  and  out  among  the  crowd,  while  Mr.  Stillwell,  with 
an  utter  dearth  of  war-wisdom,  fled  along  the  lonely 
track.  Wyatt  and  Mr.  Holiday  pursued  Mr,  Stillwell, 
and  brought  him  to  bay  near  the  water  tank.     Filling 


354  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

him  full  of  lead,  they  returned,  and  rapped  on  the  car- 
window  to  attract  the  attention  of  Virgil. 

"One!"  cried  Wyatt,  holding  up  a  finger. 

Virgil  looked  up;  the  funeral  sadness  of  liis  face  for 
a  moment  gave  way  to  a  smile.  He  nodded,  and  then 
the  train  pulled  out. 

That  night  Wyatt  Earp  and  Mr.  Holiday  turned 
Tucson  upside  down  hunting  for  the  evanscent  Mr.  Clan- 
ion.     Pie  had  fled  and  left  no  sign. 

"I  must  sleep,  Wyatt,"  said  Mr.  Holiday,  at  last. 

One  is  not  to  forget  tliat  Mr.  Holiday  was  an  invalid, 
with  days  not  only  numbered,  but  few.  His  fatigue  was 
excusable.  That  he  was  wearied  to  a  standstill  his  yel- 
low moustache,  a-tremble  with  the  nervous  twitcliing  of 
his  hp,  made  proof. 

Speaking  of  Mr.  Holiday's  moustache — the  colour  of 
corn :  Is  it  not  the  thing  strange  how  those  gentlemen 
of  guns  and  perils  should  have  been  every  one  of  the 
gray-eyed  strain.?  Or  was  it  that  the  desperate  drop 
in  the  veins  of  each  came  from  some  old  forgotten  viking 
ancestor  of  that  yellow-haired,  battle-axe  breed  which 
once  foraged  and  fought  along  the  coasts  of  Northeni 
Europe.? 

Mr.  Holiday  was  vastly  repaired  by  a  long  night's 
sleep.  The  morning  found  Mr.  Holiday  and  Wyatt 
Earp  in  the  saddle,  their  belts  heavy  with  cartridges, 


THE  WORRIES  OF  MR.  HOLIDAY        355 

war-bags  bulging  with  provant.  They  rode  out  of  Tuc- 
son, and  their  desperate  campaign  of  revenge  com- 
menced. They  invaded  tlie  San  Simon  and  blotted  out 
the  Mexican  Florentine.  Tliis  was  slight  work,  like  the 
killing  of  a  jack-rabbit.  There  should  be  braver  game 
in  the  San  Simon. 

The  San  Simon  ranks,  however,  were  growing  thin. 
Mr.  Spence,  fear-winged,  had  fled  intO'  Mexico.  The 
surviving  Mr.  Clanton  had  made  good  liis  flight  begun 
that  Tucson  evening,  and  was  never  traced. 

Curly  Bill,  the  San  Simon  cliief,  o\vned  a  better  cour- 
age, and  Wyatt  Earp  and  jMr.  Holiday  found  him  at 
the  Whetstone  Springs.  There  was  a  battle  royal ;  Wy- 
att Earp  and  IMr.  Holiday  on  the  one  side,  with  Curly 
Bill  and  a  couple  of  his  adlierents  on  the  other.  Curly 
Bill  was  rubbed  out,  wliile  Wyatt  Earp,  shaving  eter- 
nity, had  the  cantle  of  his  saddle  torn  away  with  a  double 
handful  of  buckshot.  The  two  adherents  of  Curly  Bill, 
while  somewhat  shattered,  escaped. 

"With  Pete  Spence  in  Mexico,"  said  Wyatt  Earp  to 
Mr.  Holiday,  as  he  changed  liis  shattered  saddle  for  the 
saddle  of  Curly  Bill,  "and  Ike  Clanton  nowhere  to  be 
found,  I  take  it  we  might  as  well  quit  and  call  it  a  day." 

"There's  nothing  else,"  said  Mr.  Holiday. 

Mr.  Holiday  and  Wyatt  Earp  rode  back  to  Tomb- 
stone.      They  were  in   their   roonis  when   a   word  of 


S56  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

warning  reached  them.  That  recent  blazing  work  in 
Tucson  and  in  the  San  Simon  had  invoked  the  invidi- 
ous admiration  of  a  Sheriff  who  was  lusting  for  fame. 
He  was  even  then  below  with  a  posse  brought  from  afar, 
equipped  of  warrants  and  weapons  and  ready  to  appre- 
hend tJiem. 

"What  do  you  say,  Doc?"  asked  Wyatt  Earp. 

"For  myself,"  said  ]Mr.  Holiday,  smothering  a  cough, 
*'I  think  I  shall  shoot  my  way  out.  Considering  the 
state  of  my.  lungs,  it  would  endanger  ni}^  health  to  be 
locked  up." 

They  sent  down  quiet  word,  and  had  their  horses  sad- 
dled and  brought  around.  Then  Mr.  Holiday  and  Wyatt 
Earp  walked  into  the  centre  of  that  aspiring  posse. 
There  was  a  giving  way ;  no  one  stretched  his  hand 
to  stay  their  going.  Only  the  ambitious  Sheriff 
spoke. 

"Mr.  Earp,"  said  he,  sweetly,  "I  want  to  see  you." 

"My  friend,"  said  Wyatt  Earp,  turning  on  the  other 
a  glance  of  warning,  "you  may  see  me  once  too  often." 
1  Mr.  Holiday  and  Wyatt  Earp,  at  a  road-gait,  took 
the  trail  for  Tucson.  In  the  blistering  heat  and  white- 
ness of  the  summer  dust,  they  disappeared ;  that  was  the 
last  of  their  story  in  Tombstone.  They  didn't  see  Tuc- 
son ;  at  a  fork  in  the  trail  they  halted. 

"Well,  adios.  Doc,"  said  Wyatt  Earp,  extending  his 


THE  WORRIES  OF  MR.  HOLIDAY       35T 

hand.  "Write  me  in  'Frisco  how  the  world  goes  with 
jou." 

"I  will,"  returned  Mr.  Holiday.  "I  shall  try  Colo- 
rado. I  must  consider  my  health,  and  I  prefer  the  clim- 
ate there.      AdiosF'' 

It  was  a  year  later  when  the  Arizona  Shenff,  who 
stood  aside  that  Tombstone  day,  broke  into  California 
Gulch,  and  the  wisdom  of  ]\Ir.  JMasterscn  became  for 
Mr.  Holiday  a  shield  of  thickness. 

"Your  papers,"  observed  the  Governor  to  him  of  Ari- 
zona, "are  in  proper  form,  and  set  clearly  forth  the 
death  of  one  Stiilwell  at  the  hands  of  jMr.  Holiday.  But 
]Mr.  Holiday  is  under  charges  here  for  robbery  on  the 
highway.  You  cannot  expect  me  to  cheat  justice  of  its 
due  in  Colorado,  in  order  to  send  you  a  man  whom  you 
should  never  have  let  escape.  The  requisition  must  be 
refused." 

Mr.  Holiday  lived  on  in  California  Gulch,  sheltered 
by  the  charge  of  the  Off  Wheeler.  It  protected 
him  to  the  end,  which  was  not  far  away.  When  his 
sands  were  running  low,  Mr.  Masterson  was  by  his 
couch. 

"You  must  have  used  up  a  ton  of  lead.  Doc,"  observed 
Mr.  Masterson  one  afternoon,  being  in  a  mood  of  fine 
philosophy ;  "and,  considering  your  years  in  the  West,  it 
beats  the  marvellous.     It  would  look  as  though  you 


858  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

simpl}^  shot  your  way  out  of  one  battle  into  another. 
How  did  you  come  to  do  it?" 

"It  used  to  worry  me,"  gasped  Mr.  Holiday,  "to  think 
that  I  must  die,  and,  to  take  my  mind  off  my  troubles, 
I  mixed  up  with  everything  that  came  along.  It  was 
the  only  way  in  which  I  could  forget  myself." 

California  Gulch  was  present  at  the  funeral.  They 
buried  Mr.  Holiday  beneath  a  clump  of  cedars  high  up 
on  the-  mountain  side,  and  Red  Jack  draped  the  Four 
Flush,  bar  in  mourning. 

"We're  going  to  miss  him,"  he  remarked,  with  a  lu- 
gubrious sigh,  to  Mr.  Masterson,  when,  after  the  ser- 
vices, the  latter  came  in  for  liis  evening  drink.  "We'll 
shorely  miss  him  from  our  midst!  An'  when  I  think  on 
his  c'reer,  sort  o'  inin  over  it  hittin'  the  lofty  places, 
I'm  here  to  observe  that  he  was  the  vividest  invalid,  an' 
the  busiest,  with  wliich  I  ever  crossed  up.  He  certainly 
was  an  in-dee-f  at-ig-a-ble  sick  man  ;  an'  that  goes !" 


CHAPTER     XV. 
HOW  MR.  HICKOK  WENT  INTO  CHEYENNE, 


R.  Masterson  had  sent  for  him,  and  within  two 
days  after  his  arrival  Mr.  Hickok  was  estab- 
Hshed  in  the  best  society  of  Cheyenne.  This, 
when  one  reflects  upon  the  particular  exclusiveness  of 
Cheyenne's  first  circles,  should  talk  loudly  in  Mr. 
Hickok's  favor.  It  was  sometliing  of  which  any 
gentleman  might  be  proud.  Not  a  saloon  denied 
him  credit;  that  hotel  which  he  honoui^ed  with  his 
custom  was  as  his  home;  his  word  was  good  for  a 
dozen  stacks  of  blues  at  any  faro  table  in  the  camp. 
And  this,  mind  you,  in  days  when  Cheyenne's  confidence 
came  forward  slowly,  and  the  Cheyenne  hand  was  not 
outstretched  to  every  paltry  individual  who  got  off  the 
stage. 

Two  weeks  prior  to  these  exaltations,  Mr.  Hickok, 
then  of  Kansas  City,  might  have  been  seen  walking  in 
that  part  of  Main  Street  known  as  Battle  Row.    For  one 

359 


360  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

of  his  optimism,  ^Ir.  Ilickok's  mood  showed  blue  and  dull. 
One  could  tell  tliis  by  the  brooding  eye,  and  the  droop 
which  invested  his  moustache  with  a  mournfulness  not 
properly  its  own.  Moreover,  there  was  further  evidenco 
to  prove  the  low  spirits  of  Mr.  Hickok.  His  hair,  long 
as  the  hair  of  a  woman,  which  in  ligliter  moments  fell 
in  a  blond  cataract  about  his  broad  shoulders,  was  knot- 
ted away  beneath  his  hat. 

The  world  does  not  praise  long  hair  in  the  case  of 
any  man.  But  Mr.  Hickok  had  much  in  his  defence. 
He  had  let  his  hair  grow  long  in  years  when  the  trans- 
action of  his  business  hopes  and  fears  gave  him  '.nuch 
to  do  with  Indians.  The  American  savage  pos.iesses 
theories  that  yield  neither  to  evidence  nor  argument:.  He 
believes  that  every  paleface  who  cuts  short  his  ha{r  does 
so  in  craven  denial  of  a  scalp  to  what  enemy  may  rise 
victorious  over  him.  Such  cowards  he  contemns.  On 
the  guileless  other  hand,  he  holds  that  the  long-haired 
man  Is  a  warrior  bold,  flaunting  defiance  with  evtry  toss 
of  his  mane.  That  long-haired  one  may  rob  and  cheat 
and  swindle  and  cuff  and  kick  your  savage;  tli^»  latter 
will  neither  murmur  nor  lift  hand  against  hin,,.  For 
is  not  he  who  robs  and  cheats  and  swindles  and  cuifs  and 
kicks  a  chief?  And  is  not  his  flowing  hair  a  frunchise 
so  to  do?  There  lurks  a  dividend  In  hair  for  any  who 
traffics  with  your  savage.     Wherefore,  In  an  hoar  of 


MR.  HICKOK  IN  CHEYENNE  361 

aboriginal  commerce  IMr.  Hickok  encouraged  a  liirsute 
luxuriance  in  the  name  of  trade.  Later,  he  continued 
it  for  the  sake  of  habit  and  old  days. 

What  should  it  be  to  prey  upon  the  sensibilities  of 
Mr.  Hickok.'^  Kansas  City  was  in  that  hour  a  toAvn  of 
mud  and  dust  and  hill  and  hollow  that  quenched  all  hap- 
piness and  drove  the  male  inhabitants  to  drink.  Was 
it  that  to  bear  him  down  .'*  No ;  if  it  were  environment, 
Mr.  Hickok  would  have  made  his  escape  to  regions  where 
the  sun  was  sliining. 

Not  to  run  the  trail  too  far,  Mr.  Hickok  was  rumin- 
ating the  loss  of  his  final  dollar,  which  had  fled  across 
a  faro  laj^out  in  the  Marble  Hall.  As  he  strolled  de- 
jectedly in  Battle  Row,  he  couldn't  have  told  where  his 
next  week's  board  was  coming  from,  not  counting  his 
next  week's  drinks.  It  was  the  dismal  present,  prom- 
ising a  dismal  future,  wliich  exhaled  those  mists  to 
take  the  curl  from  IVIr.  Hickok's  moustache  and 
teach  his  hair  to  hide  beneath  liis  hat.  Short-haired 
men  may  be  penniless  and  still  command  respect; 
a  long-haired  man  without  a  dollar  is  a  creature 
laughed  at. 

Having  nothing  to  engage  liim  but  his  gloom,  Mr. 
Hickok  glanced  upward  and  across  the  street  where, 
over  the  fourth-story  windows,  an  Odd-Fellows  sign  was 
bolted.     The  sign  was  painted  black  upon  white.     That 


862  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

"0"  wliich  stood  as  the  Initial  of  "Odd,"  showed  wood 
colour  inside  the  black. 

It  was  years  before  when,  to  please  a  bevy  of  tender 
tourists,  and  by  permission  of  Mr.  Speers,  then  Chief 
of  PoHce,  Mr.  Hickok  emptied  his  six-shooters  into  the 
centre  of  that  "O."  It  was  a  finished  piece  of  shoot- 
ing; the  tourists  told  of  it  about  their  clubs  when  safe 
in  the  East  again.  The  "O,"  where  the  original  white 
had  been  splintered  into  wood  colour  by  those  dozen  bul- 
lets it  had  stopped,  showed  plain  as  print.  Mr.  Hickok 
sighed  as  he  considered  his  handiwork. 

Mr.  Hickok  did  not  sigh  because  of  any  former  ac- 
curacy with  pistols ;  but  he  recalled  how  on  that  fine 
occasion,  in  contrast  to  present  bankruptcy,  he  harboured 
fourteen  hundred  dollars  in  his  clothes.  Pie  had  beaten 
the  bank  at  Old  Number  Three,  and  was  rich  and  gay 
in  consequence. 

"I  think  I  shoot  better  when  I've  got  a  roll." 

Thus  murmured  Mr.  Hickok,  as  he  meditated  upoa 
the  strangeness  of  things.  Mr.  Hickok  might  have  ex- 
tended his  surmise.  A  man  does  all  things  better  when 
he  has  a  roll. 

The  currents  of  life  had  been  flowing  swiftly  for  Mr. 
Hickok.  Two  years  before  he  was  marshal  of  Hays,  and 
had  shot  his  way  into  the  popular  confidence.  In  an  evil 
hour  a  trio  of  soldiers  came  over  from  the  Fort,  led  by 


MR.  HICKOK  IN  CHEYENNE  363 

one  Lanigan,  and  took  drunken  umbrage  at  ^Mr.  Hic- 
kok's  hair.  Tliis  rudeness  touched  Mr.  Hickok  tenderly, 
and  in  checking  it  he  snuffed  out  those  three  as  gallery 
Frenchmen  snuff  candles  at  ten  paces.  Since  tliere  arose 
carpers  to  say  that  Mr.  Hickok  went  too  far  in  these 
homicides,  he  laid  down  liis  trust  and  journeyed  to 
Abilene. 

Mr.  Hickok  was  welcomed  with  spread  arms  by  Abi- 
lene. Its  marshal  had  just  been  gathered  home  through 
the  efforts  of  a  cowboy  with  a  genius  for  firearms.  Abi- 
lene offered  the  vacant  place  to  ]\Ir.  Hickok,  and  to  en- 
courage acceptance,  showed  liim  where  it  hanged  the 
cowboy.  Mr.  Hickok  accepted,  drew  on  the  pubKc  fisc 
for  the  price  of  five  hundred  rounds  of  ammunition,  and 
entered  upon  his  responsibilities. 

Mr.  Hickok  reigned  as  marshal  eight  montlis,  and 
kept  Abilene  like  a  church.  Then  he  put  a  bullet 
through  Mr.  Coit,  whose  pleasure  it  had  been  to  go  upon 
tri-weekly  sprees  and  leave  everything  all  over  the  works. 
Again,  as  on  that  day  in  Hays,  there  came  narrowists 
to  fling  reproach  upon  Mr.  Hickok.  They  said  the  af- 
fair might  have  been  sufficiently  managed  by  wrecking 
a  six-shooter  upon  Mr.  Coit's  head ;  the  dead  gentleman 
had  yielded  to  such  treatment  on  former  occasions.  As 
it  was,  the  intemperate  haste  of  ^Ir.  Hickok  had  ehmi- 
nated  one  who  spent  money  with  both  Iiands.     The  tak- 


S64i  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

ing  off  of  Mr.  Colt  might  conduce  to  Abilene's  peace; 
it  was  none  the  less  a  blow  to  Abilene's  prosperity. 
Mr.  Hickok,  made  heartsore  by  mean  strictures,  and 
weary  with  complaints  which  found  sordid  footing  in 
a  lust  for  gain,  gave  up  his  marshalship  of  Abilene, 
as  he  had  given  up  the  post  in  Plays,  and  wandered  east 
in  search  of  whiter  fortune. 

About  the  time  he  shook  the  Abilene  dust  from  his 
moccasins,  there  came  to  i\Ir.  Hickok's  hand  a  proposal 
from  Mr.  Codj^  to  join  him  in  the  production  of  a  drama. 
It  was  to  be  a  drama  descriptive  of  an  Arcadian  West — 
one  wherein  stages  were  robbed,  maidens  rescued,  Indians 
put  to  death.  Mr.  Hickok  in  real  life  had  long  been 
familiar  with  every  fraction  of  the  stage  business ;  the 
lines  he  could  learn  in  a  night.  ]Mr.  Cody  was  confident 
that  Mr.  Hickok  would  take  instant  part  in  that  drama 
without  rehearsal.  If  ]\Ir.  Hickok  accepted,  the  finan- 
cial side  was  to  be  coloured  to  meet  his  taste.  His  social 
life,  so  Mr.  Cody  explained,  should  be  one  of  splendour 
and  Eastern  luxury. 

Mr.  Hickok,  pausing  only  to  break  himself  at  faro- 
bank,  took  up  the  proffer  of  Mr.  Cody.  He  journeyed 
to  New  York,  and  found  that  thorough-going  scout  so- 
journing at  the  Brevoort  House. 

**Where's  your  trunk?"  asked  ]\Ir.  Cody. 

"Haven't  anj'^,"  returned  Mr.  Hickok,  whose  trunk 


MR.  HICKOK  IN  CHEYENNE  365 

had  been  left  to  keep  a  boardlng-liouse  in  countenance. 
*'But  I've  brought  my  guns."    This  last,  hopefully. 

"That's  right,"  observed  Mr.  Cody,  whom  notliing 
was  ever  kno\ni  to  daunt.  "While  a  gentleman  may  be 
without  a  change  of  Imen,  he  should  never  let  his  ward- 
robe sink  so  low  as  to  leave  him  without  a  change  of 
guns." 

Mr.  Hickok  was  not  a  permanency  in  the  theatres. 
His  was  a  serious  nature,  and  there  were  many  matters 
behind  the  footlights  to  irk  the  soul  of  him.  For  one 
stifling  outrage  he  was  allowed  nothing  lethal  wherewith 
to  feed  his  six-shooters.  Blanks  by  the  hundreds  he 
might  have ;  but  no  bullets. 

Now  this,  in  a  blind  sort  of  way,  told  upon  Mr,  Hic- 
kok as  something  irreligious.  A  Colt's-45  was  not  a 
joke;  its  mechanism  had  not  been  connived  in  any  spirit 
of  facetiousness.  It  was  hardware  for  life  and  death; 
it  owned  a  mission,  and  to  make  of  it  a  bauble  and  a 
tinsel  thing  smote  upon  Mr.  Hickok  like  sacrilege. 

And  then,  to  shoot  over  the  heads  of  folk  shook  one's 
faith.  It  was  as  though  one  mocked  the  heavens !  In 
good  truth,  Mr.  Hickok  never  did  this  last.  It  was  his 
wont  to  empty  liis  weapons,  right  and  left,  at  the  shrink- 
ing legs  of  Indian-seeming  supers.  The  practice  was 
not  lacking  in  elements  of  certain  excellence.  The  pow- 
der burned  the  supers,  and  brought  yells  which  were 


S66  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

genuine  from  those  adjuncts  of  the  tlieatre.  In  tliAt  way 
was  the  public  gratified,  and  the  integrity  of  the  stage 
upheld. 

But  the  supers  objected,  and  refused  to  go  on  with 
IMr.  Hickok.  They  might  love  the  drama,  but  not  to 
that  extent.  It  was  the  rock  on  wliich  they  split.  ]Mr. 
Hickok  would  not  aim  high,  and  the  burned  ones  would 
take  no  part  in  the  presentation  unless  he  did.  The 
situation  became  strained.  As  a  finale,  after  bitter  words 
had  been  spoken,  ]Mr.  Hickok  quit  the  mimic  world  and 
returned  to  a  life  that,  wliile  it  nujnbered  its  drawbacks, 
might  make  the  boast  that  it  was  real.  It  was  then  he 
came  to  Kansas  City,  there  to  experience  ebbing,  flow- 
ing nights  at  farobank,  with  that  final  ebb  adverted  to, 
which  left  lilm  dollar-stranded  as  described. 

This  chronicle  deserted  Mr.  Hickok  in  Battle  Row, 
thinking  on  the  strangeness  of  things.  Having  suffi- 
ciently surveyed  his  bullet  work  of  another  day,  as  set 
forth  by  tlie  Odd  Fellows'  emblem,  Mr.  Hickok  was 
about  to  resume  his  walk  when  a  telegraph  boy  rushed 
p.  His  rush  over,  the  urchin  gazed  upon  ^Ir.  Hickok 
with  the  utmost  satisfaction  for  the  space  of  tliirty  » 
seconds.     Then  he  took  a  message  from  his  book. 

"Be  you  IVIr.  Hickok.?" 

**Yes,  my  cliild,"  replied  ]Mr.  Hickok  blandly. 

"Mr.  Wild  Bill  Hickok.?" 


MR.  HICKOK  IN  CHEYENNE  367 

Mr.  Hickok  frowned;  he  distasted  the  ferocious 
prefix. 

It  had  been  granted  Mv.  Hickok  by  romanticists  with 
a  bent  to  be  fantastic,  and  was  a  step  in  titles  the  more 
strange,  perhaps,  since  Mr.  Hickok  was  not  baptised 
"Wilham,"  but  "James."  But  "Wild  Bill"  they  made 
it,  and  "Wild  Bill"  it  remained;  albeit  in  submission. 
to  Mr.  Hickok's  wishes — he  once  made  them  plain  by 
shooting  a  glass  of  whiskey  from  the  hand  of  one  who 
had  called  him  "Wild  Bill,"  to  that  gentleman's  disturb- 
ance and  a  loss  to  him  of  one  drink — he  was  never  so 
named  except  behind  liis  back.  When  folk  referred  to 
him,  they  called  him  "Wild  Bill" ;  when  they  addressed 
him  they  did  so  as  "Mr.  Hickok."  Now,  when  the  world 
and  Mr.  Hickok  understood  each  other  on  this  touchy 
point,  every  sign  of  friction  ceased.  The  compromise 
won  ready  adoption,  and  everybody  was  satisfied  since 
everybody  went  not  without  his  partial  way. 

Mr.  Hickok  tore  open  the  message,  wliile  the  boy  ad- 
mired him  to  the  hilts.  The  message  was  a  long  one, 
by  which  Mr.  Hickok  deduced  it  to  be  important.  Mr. 
,  Hickok  was  not  over-quick  with  written  English ;  he  had 
been  called  in  the  theatres  a  "slow  study."  To  expedite 
affairs  he  went  at  once  to  the  signature.  This  was  intel- 
ligent enough.  As  a  iiile,  one  could  give  you  every  word 
of  any  eight-page  letter  he  receives  by  merely  glanc- 


368  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

ing  at  the  shigiiature.  That  nile  will  prove  particularly 
true  when  the  signature  is  a  lady's.  However,  this  time 
the  rule  failed. 

j\Ir.  Hickok,  wliile  he  knew  the  name,  was  driven  to 
wade  through  the  communication  before  he  could  come 
b}'  even  a  glint  of  its  purport.  This  he  did  slowly  and 
painfully,  feeling  his  way  from  word  to  Avord  as  though 
fording  a  strange  and  turbid  stream.  At  last,  when  he 
made  it  out,  Mr.  Hickok's  face  came  brightly  forth  of 
the  shadows  like  the  sun  from  behind  a  cloud.  Evidently 
the  news  was  good.  Mr.  Hickok  glanced  again  at  the 
name.  It  was  the  name  of  Mr.  IMasterson,  whose  life 
he  had  once  saved. 

Lest  3'ou  gather  unjustly  some  red  and  violent  picture 
of  ]\Ir.  Hickok,  as  one  to  whom  the  slaughter  of  his 
kind  was  as  the  air  he  breathed,  it  should  be  shown 
that  he  had  saved  many  lives.  The  record  of  this  truth 
would  gratify  Mr.  Hickok  were  he  here  to  read,  for  he 
often  remembered  it  in  his  conversation. 

"If  I've  took  life,"  Mr.  Hickok  would  remark,  "I've 
frequent  saved  life.  Likewise,  I've  saved  a  heap  more 
than  I've  took.  A  count  of  noses  would  show  that  the 
world's  ahead  by  me.  Foot  up  the  figgers,  an'  you'll 
see  I've  got  lives  comin'  to  me  right  now." 

What  Mr.  Masterson  said  was  tliis:  He  had  staked 
out  a  claim  in  the  Deadwood  district;  the  assay  showed 


MK.  HICKOK  IN  CHEYENNE  369 

it  full  of  yellow  promise.  Mr.  Hickok  was  to  be  a  part 
owner;  likewise,  he  must  meet  Mr.  Masterson  in  Chey- 
enne. Incidentally,  the  latter  had  notified  the  American 
National  to  cash  Mr.  liickok's  draft  for  two  hundred 
dollars,  sc  that  poverty,  should  such  have  him  in  its  coils 
— which  it  did — might  not  deter  liim  from  proceeding  to 
Cheyenne. 

Nothing  could  have  better  dovetailed  with  the  broken 
destinies  of  ]Mr.  Hickok.  Within  thirty  minutes  he  had 
drawn  for  those  two  hundi-ed  dollars.  In  fort}'^  he  had 
sent  three  messages.  The  first  was  to  Mr.  Masterson, 
promising  an  appearance  In  Cheyenne.  The  others  were 
of  grimer  purpose,  and  went  respectively  to  Abilene  and 
Hays.  These  latter  were  meant  to  clear  the  honour  of 
Mr.  Hickok. 

When  Mr.  Hickok  went  into  the  drama  there  broke 
out  in  Hays  and  Abilene  a  hubbub  of  cheap  comment. 
There  were  folk  of  bilious  fancy  and  unguarded  lip 
who  went  saying  that  Mr.  Hickok  had  fled  to  the  foot- 
lights for  safety.  He  had  made  enemies,  as  one  who 
goes  shooting  up  and  down  Is  prone  to  do;  certain  clots 
and  coteries  of  these  made  Hays  and  Abilene  their  home 
camps.  It  was  because  he  feared  these  foes,  and  shrunk 
from  the  consequences  of  their  feuds,  that  he  called  him- 
self an  actor,  and  went  shouting  and  charging  and  shoot- 
ing blank  cartridges   at  imitation   Indians  th-!-nnn;hoiit 


870  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

an  anaemic  East!  Such  childish  employment  kept  Mr. 
Hickok  beyond  the  range  of  his  enemies,  that  was  the 
reason  of  it;  and  tlie  reason  was  the  reason  of  a  dog. 
Thus  spake  ]Mr.  Hickok's  detractors ;  and  none  arose 
to  deny,  because  Mr.  Hickok's  honour  was  his  honour, 
and  the  West  does  business  by  the  aphorism,  "Let  every 
man  kill  his  own  snakes." 

Mr.  Hickok  had  not  gone  in  ignorance  of  these  slan- 
ders ;  he  had  heard  them  when  as  far  away  from  Abilene 
and  Hays  as  Boston  Common.  Now  he  would  refute 
them;  he  would  give  all  who  desired  it  an  opportunity 
to  bum  condemnatory  powder  in  his  case.  He  would 
pass  through  Hays  and  Abilene  on  his  slow  way  to  Chey- 
enne. These  hamlets  should  be  notified.  Those  who  ob- 
jected to  Mr.  Hickok's  past  in  any  of  its  incidents 
might  come  down  to  the  train  and  set  forth  their  dis- 
pleasure with  their  pistols.  With  this  fair  thought,  INIr. 
Hickok  addressed  respectively  and  as  follows  the  editors 
of  Abilene  and  Hays : 

"I  shall  go  through  your  prairie  dog  village  Tues- 
day. I  weax  my  hair  long  as  usual."  This  last  to  in-, 
timate  a  scalp  unconquered. 

The  press  is  a  great  and  peccant  engine ;  and  who  has 
public  interest  more  at  heart  than  your  editor,''  Those 
of  Abilene  and  Hays  posted  with  all  diligence  the  mes- 
sage of  ]\Ir.   Hickok  on  their  bulletin  boards,  adding 


MB.  HICKOK  TN  CHEYENNE  371 

thereunto  the  hour  of  the  Hickok  train,  and  then 
made  preparations  to  give  fullest  details  of  the  casualties. 

iVfr.  Hickok  cleaned  and  oiled  his  guns.  He  looked 
forward  carelessly  to  Hays  and  Abilene.  Experience 
had  taught  him  that  the  odds  were  that  not  a  warlike 
soul  would  interrupt  his  progress.  Humanity  talks 
fifty  times  where  once  it  shoots,  and  Mr.  Hickok  was 
not  ignorant  of  the  race  in  its  verbal  ferocities.  In- 
deed, being  a  philosopher,  he  explained  them. 

"A  man,"  observed  INIr.  Hickok,  "nacherally  does  a 
heap  more  shootin'  with  his  mouth  than  with  his  gun. 
An'  for  two  reasons,  to  wit :"  Here  Mr.  Hickok  would 
raise  an  impressive  trigger  finger.  "He's  a  shorer, 
quicker  shot  with  his  mouth;  and  it  costs  less  for  am- 
munition. A  gent  can  load  and  fire  liis  mouth  off  fifty 
times  with  a  ten-cent  drink  of  licker,  while  cartridges, 
fifty  in  a  box,  are  a  dollar  and  four  bits  a  box." 

Still,  some  vigorous  person,  whether  at  Abilene  or 
Hays,  might  appear  in  the  path  of  Mr.  Hickok  on  battle 
bent.  Wherefore,  as  aforesaid,  he  oiled  and  loaded  fully 
his  Colt's-45s. 

"Because,"  said  Mr.  Hickok,  "I  wouldn't  want  to  be 
caught  four-flushin'  if  some  gent  did  call  my  bluff." 

It  will  seem  strange  that  Mr.  Hickok  stood  willing 
thus  to  innate  hostilities.  The  wonder  of  it  might  be  ex- 
plained.    Mr.  Hickok  was,  like  most  folk  who  put  in 


Slii  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

their  lives  upon  the  dreary,  outstretched  deserts  of  the 
West,  a  fatalist.  He  would  live  liis  days;  until  his  time 
he  was  safe  from  halter,  knife  and  gun.  Air.  Hickok 
liad  all  unconsciously  Ijecome  a  fasliion  of  white  Chey- 
enne, and  based  existence  on  a  fearlessness  that  never 
wavered,  plus  an  indifference  that  never  cared.  He  was 
what  he  was ;  he  would  be  Avhat  he  would  be.  Men  were 
merest  arrows  in  the  air,  shot  by  some  sightless  archery 
of  nature,  one  to  have  a  liigher  and  one  a  lower  flight, 
and  each  to  come  clattering  back  to  earth  and  bury  it- 
self in  the  grave.  That  was  the  religious  thought  of 
Mr.  Hickok,  or  rather  Mr.  Hickok's  religious  instinct, 
for  he  never  shaped  it  to  an  idea  nor  piled  it  up  in 
words. 

There  were  scores  to  greet  Mr.  Hickok  at  Hays  and 
Abilene,  but  none  in  hostile  guise.  While  the  train 
paused,  ]\tr.  Hickok  came  down  from  the  platform  and 
stood  witli  his  back  against  the  car.  There  he  received 
his  friends  and  searched  the  throng  for  enemies.  He 
was  careful,  but  invincible,  and  liis  hair  floated  bravely 
as  for  a  challenge. 

As  the  bell  rang  ]Mr.  Hickok  backed  smilingly  but 
watchfully  aboard.  He  had  no  notion  of  exposing  liiin- 
self ,  and  there  might  be  someone  about  with  the  required 
military  talent  to  manage  an  att-ack  in  flank.  But  the 
peace  of  those  visits  passed  unbroken,  and  Mr.  Hickok's 


MR.  HICK  OK  IN  CHEYEXXE  373 

honour  was  repaired.  Mr.  Hickok  was  not  above  a  se^- 
date  joy  concerning  his  healed  honour,  for,  though  he 
might  not  own  a  creed,  lie  had  a  pride. 

Now  that  Hays  and  Abilene  had  gone  astern  with  the 
things  that  had  been,  iNIr.  llickok  sat  himself  down  to  a 
contemplation  of  Cheyenne.  This  would  be  liis  earliest 
visit.  Nor  had  he  in  days  gone  by  made  the  acquaintance 
of  any  one  who  wrote  Cheyenne  as  his  home.  Mr. 
Hickok  decided  on  a  modest  entrance. 

"Which  if  thar's  one  thing  that's  always  made  mo 
tired,"  observed  Mr.  Hickok,  as  he  talked  the  subject 
over  with  himself,  "it's  a  party  jmnpin'  into  camp  as 
though  he  owned  the  yearth  an'  had  come  to  fence  it."' 
Mr.  Hickok  planned  an  unobtnisive  descent  upon 
Cheyenne.  He  would  appear  without  announcement. 
He  would  let  Cheyenne  uncover  his  merits  one  by  one 
and  learn  his  identity  only  when  events  should  pomt 
the  day  and  way.  He  would  claim  no  privileges  beyond 
the  privileges  of  common  men. 

Such  was  the  amiable  programme  of  Mr.  Hickok,  and 
he  arrayed  himself  to  be  in  harmony  therewith.  The 
yellow  mane  that  had  flaunted  at  Hays  and  Abilene  was 
imprisoned,  as  in  Kansas  City,  beneath  a  small-rimmed 
soft  felt  hat,  to  the  end  that  it  enkindle  rage  in  no  man. 
Because  the  brightness  of  the  sun  on  the  parched  pam- 
pas hurt  his  eyes,  worn  as  they  were  with  much  scanning 


874  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

of  niidiiight  decks,  Mr.  Hickok  donnccl  dark  goggres. 
His  coat  was  black  and  long — to  cover  hi.^  annaiiient — 
and  almost  of  pulpit  cut.  To  put  a  closing  toucli  on  a 
whole  that  spoke  of  lamb's-wool  peace,  Mr.  Hickok,  limp- 
ing with  a  shade  of  rheumatism,  the  harvest  of  many 
nights  on  rain-soaked  prairies,  carried  a  cjine.  This  lat- 
ter was  a  resplendent  creature,  having  been  the  butt 
end  of  a  rosewood  billiard  cue,  and  was  as  heavy  as  a 
Sioux  w^ar  club.  Thus  appeared  Mr.  Hickok  when  he 
made  his  Cheyenne  debut;  and  those  who  observed  him 
halting  up  the  street  held  him  for  some  wandering 
evangelist,  present  with  a  purpose  to  hold  services  in 
the  first  hurdy-gurdy  he  caught  off  his  foolish  guard. 

Mr.  Masterson  was  not  in  Cheyenne  when  jMr.  Hickok 
arrived.  There  was  word  waiting  that  he  had  gone  to 
Peadwood,  and  would  not  return  for  a  week.  jMr. 
Hickok,  upon  receiving  this  news,  resolved  for  rec- 
reation. 

It  was  ten  of  the  evening  clock,  and  Mr.  Hickok  de- 
cided to  creep  about  on  his  billiard-cue,  and  take  a 
friendly  view  of  Cheyenne.  It  was  well  to  go  abroad, 
with  what  decent  speed  he  might,  and  acquire  a  high 
regard  for  Chej'^enne  people ;  it  would  be  a  best  method 
of  teaching  them  to  entertain  a  high  regard  for  him. 

"But  no  trouble !"  ruminated  Mr.  Hickok,  with  a  shake 
of  the  head.      He  was,  according  to  his  custom,  ad  vis- 


MR.  HICKOK  IN  CHEYENNE  375 

Ing  with,  liimself.  "No  trouble!  Tliar's  nothiii'  in  it! 
Besides,  the  pitcher  that  goes  often  to  the  well  gets  busted 
at  last,"  and  Mr.  Hickok  sighed  sagaciously.  Then,  as 
one  who  registers  a  good  resolve :  "The  next  sport  who 
gets  a  rise  out  o'  nie  will  have  to  back  me  into  a_ 
comer  an'  prove  concloosive  that  he's  out  to  kill. 
Then,  of  course,  I'll  be  obleeged  to  take  my  usual 
measures." 

Such  were  the  cogitations  of  Mr.  Hickok,  and  all  on 
the  side  of  law  and  order,  when  he  turned  into  the  Gold 
Room. 

"What'll  you  have,  Sport.'"'  asked  the  barkeeper. 

"Licker,"  said  Mr.  Hickok. 

The  barkeeper  tossed  up  glass  and  bottle  in  a  manner 
of  scorn.  He  had  called  Mr.  Hickok  "Sport,"  not  for 
compliment,  but  derision,  and  because  ]\Ir.  Hickok  looked 
like  an  agnculturist  who  had  gone  astray. 

"Got  a  potato  ranch  sonie'ers  .f'"  remarked  the  bar- 
keeper, and  Ills  tones  were  the  tones  of  sarcasm.  "Or 
mebby  is  it  hay.^" 

Mr.  Hickok  made  no  reply  as  he  paid  the  double  price 
which  the  astute  bar  man  charged  him.  He  knew  he  was 
derided  and  he  knew  he  was  robbed;  but  full  of  peace 
he  bore  it  in  wordless  humility.  Musingly,  he  recalled 
a  gallant  past. 

"Now  if  that  barkeep,"  he  reflected,  "knowed  who  I 


376  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

was,  he'd  simply  hit  throe  or  four  high  places  and  be 
miles  awa}^" 

Mr.  Hickok  inched  toAvards  a  faro  game  whicli  was 
hungering  for  victims.  The  faro  game  was  at  the  far 
end  of  the  Gold  Room.  Over  and  above  a  handful  of 
silver,  Mr.  Hickok  had  two  50-dollar  bills,  the  remain- 
ing moietj  of  those  two  hundred  sent  him  by  Mr.  INIas- 
terson.  Mr.  Hickok  was  a  born  speculator ;  in  a  moment 
he  had  been  caught  in  the  coils  of  the  game. 

While  he  had  but  the  even  hundred  dollars,  Mr.  Hickok 
was  no  one  to  prolong  an  agony.  He  bet  the  half  on  the 
"high  card."  The  turn  came,  "nine-trey  ;"  Mr.  Hickok's 
fifty  were  swept  into  the  bank.  Mr.  Hickock  wagered 
the  other  fifty  on  the  "liigh  card."  The  turn  came, 
"deuce-eight." 

The  dealer  counted  down  twenty-five  dollars. 

"How's  that.?"  asked  jMr.  Hickok. 

"The  limit's  twenty-five,"  spake  the  dealer  grufHy,  and 
the  gruff  lookout  hoarsely  echoed:  "Limit's  twenty- 
five!" 

"But  you  took  fifty  when  I  lost." 

"Fifty  goes  if  you  lose!"  retorted  the  dealer,  in- 
solently, and  the  hoarse  lookout  with  echoing  insolence 
repeated:    "It  goes  if  you  lose!" 

Then  did  Mr.  Hickok  rejoice  because  of  a  provident 
rheumatism  that  furnished  him  his  billiard-cue. 


MB.  mCKOK  IN  CHEYENNE  377 

"Biff!  bang!" 

j\Ir.  Hickok  tapped  the  dealer  and  then  the  lookout. 
They  fell  from  their  perches  like  apples  when  one  shakes 
November's  bough.  Having  thus  cleared  a  path  for  the 
feet  of  justice,  Mr.  Hickok  reached  across  to  the  bank- 
roll and  helped  himself  to  a  bundle  of  money,  which, 
to  quote  the  scandalised  barkeeper  who  beheld  the  rapine 
from  afar,  was,  "big  enough  to  choke  a  cow."  These 
riches  I\Ir.  Hickok  pocketed  in  the  name  of  right. 

Having  repaired  his  money  wrongs,  as  that  portion 
of  the  Cheyenne  public  then  and  there  present  fell  upon 
him,  Mr.  Hickok  resumed  his  billard-cue  and  went  to 
work.  ]\Ir.  Hickok  did  heroic  deeds.  He  mowed  a  swath 
through  the  press !  A  dozen  heads  suffered !  He  fought 
his  way  to  the  wall  I 

"Now  everybody  fill  his  hand !"  shouted  Mr.  Hickok, 
pulling  liis  8-inch  six-shooters. 

Mr.  Hickok's  goggles  had  fallen  to  the  floor ;  his  loos- 
ened locks  were  flying  like  a  war  banner.  Altogether, 
when  thus  backed  against  the  wall,  and  behind  a  brace  of 
Mr.  Colt's  best  pistols,  flowing  hair,  and  eyes  gray-fire, 
Mr.  Hickok  made  a  striking  figure — one  to  live  long 
in  Cheyenne  memory !  The  public  stood  at  gaze.  Then 
some  wise  man  yelled  : 

"It's  Wild  Bill !" 

There  was  no  dispute  as  to  Mr.  Hickok's  identity. 


378  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

The  public  instantly  conceded  it,  and  began  going 
til  rough  doors  and  windows  in  blocks  of  five. 

IVIr.  Plickok,  deserted,  limped  slowly  towards  the  door. 
As  he  passed  the  bar,  its  once  supercilious  custodian, 
raised  his  head  above  its  moist  levels,  and  asked  in  meek- 
ness : 

"Mr.  Hickok,  will  you  have  a  drink?  It's  on  the 
house.'* 

It  was  the  next  afternoon ;  the  Cheyenne  marshal,  ac- 
companied by  jNIr.  Bowlby,  proprietor  of  the  Gold  Room, 
paid  a  courtly  visit  to  Mr.  Plickok. 

The  marshal  was  aggrieved. 

"You  ought  not  to  come  ambuscadin*  into  camp  that 
a-way,"  he  remonstrated,  speaking  of  j\lr.  Hickok's 
bashful  entrance  into  town.  "It  might  have  got  a  passel 
of  Cheyenne  people  killed.  It  wan't  right,  IMr.  Hickok. 
Only  it's  you,  I'd  say  it  sort  o'  bordered  on  the  treach- 
erous." 

"It  ain't  that  I'm  askin*  it  back,  Mr.  Hickok,"  ob- 
served ]Mr.  Bowlbjs  diffidently,  "but  I  want  to  check  up 
my  game.  Sech  bein'  my  motive,  would  you-all  mind  in- 
formin'  me  kindly  how  big  a  wad  ^^ou  got  outen  that 
drawer.^" 

"Which  I  shore  couldn't  sa}',"  returned  Mr.  Hickok, 
languidly.  "I  ain't  counted  it  none  as  yet."  Then, 
in  a  way  of  friendly  generosity :    "Mr.  Bowlby,  I  don't 


MR.  HICKOK  IX  CHEYEXXE  379 

reckon  how  I  oughter  keep  all  that  money ;  it's  too 
much.     I'd  feel  easier  if  you'd  let  me  split  it  with  you." 

"No  'bjections  in  the  least,"  replied  jNIr.  Bowlby,  po- 
litely. 

"Which  I  should  say  as  much!"  exclaimed  the  mar- 
shal, in  enthusiastic  admiration  of  ]\Ir.  Hickok's  liber- 
ahty.  "Thar's  an  offer  that's  good  enough  for  a  dog! 
An'  now,  gents,"  concluded  the  marshal,  linking  one  arm 
into  that  of  Mr.  Hickok,  and  with  i\Ir.  Bowlby  on  the 
other ;  "let's  go  down  to  the  Gold  Room  an'  licker." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
THE  LAST  VISIT  TO  DODGE. 

THERE  was  a  County  Seat  war  between  the  towns 
of  Cimarron  and  Ingalls,  and  it  was  in  the  final 
phases  of  tliat  involvement  the  historian  first 
hears  of  i\Ir.  Masterson's  brother  Jim.  Those  dif- 
ferences between  Cimarron  and  Ingalls  carried  in- 
teresting features.  Not  a  least  of  these  was  the  death 
of  INIr.  Prathcr  at  ]\Ir.  Tighlman's  positive  hands.  The 
latter  exact  personage  was  a  citizen  of  Dodge.  Be- 
ing, however,  one  who  resented  narrowisms  and  to  whom 
any  "pent  up  Utica"  was  as  the  thing  unbearable,  Mr. 
Tighlman  pemiitted  liimself  an  interest  in  that  Gray 
County  contention  and,  since  Cimarron  was  the  natural- 
born  enemy  of  Dodge,  sympathized  with  Ingalls. 

This  sentiment  on  Mr.  Tighlman's  part  did  not  meet 
with  the  approbation  of  Mr.  Prathcr,  who  was  a  parti- 
san of  Cimarron,  and  Avhen  the  former  appeared  at  the 
special  election  called  to  settle  the  question,  Mr.  Prather 
— to  employ  a  cliildish  phrase — fell  into  a  profound 
pout.      Mr.   Tighlman's   attendance  meant  nothing  be- 

380 


THE  LAST  VISTT  TO  DODGE  381 

yond  a  desire  to  humour  his  curiosity  and  flatter  that 
inte''est  which  possessed  him  in  favour  of  an  Ingalls  suc- 
cess. Mr.  Prather,  however,  in  his  jealousy  for  Cimar- 
ron, construed  it  differently  and  pulled  his  gun. 

Behig  alert,  and  sensitive,  and  having  had  his  nerves 
sharpened  bj  i^^erilous  experiences,  Mr.  Tighlman  was  in- 
stantly awaic  of  this  hostile  demonstration.  As  corol- 
lary, his  owi^i  gun  left  its  scabbard  coincident  with  that  of 
iNIr.  Prallicr,  the  result  being  a  weakening  of  the  Cimar- 
ron causf.-  by  the  loss  of  one.  There  was  no  criticism  of 
]\Ir.  Ti^^Iilman  ;  for  the  best  belief  of  folk  ascribed  a  first 
wrong  f^tep  to  the  vanished  i\lr.  Prather.  The  common 
feeling  was  summed  up  b}^  an  onlooker  who  spoke  with- 
out prejudice.     He  said: 

"Prather  reached  for  liis  six-shooter,  an'  Billy" — 
meaning  INIr.  Tiglilman — "beat  him  to  it.  That's  all 
thar  was  to  the  fuss." 

The  county  records  were  in  Cimarron,  which  had  been 
dc  facto  the  County  Seat.  Ingalls  came  forth  of  the 
election  \nctor,  and  many  held  that  the  taking  off  of  Mr. 
Prather  in  its  moral  effect  had  much  to  do  with  bringing 
the  triumph  about.  It  may  have  been  this  thought  that 
suggested  to  Ingalls  the  enlistment  of  Mr.  Tiglilman's 
services  when,  following  the  election  and  in  defiance  of 
that  ballot  decision  then  and  there  obtained,  Cimarron 
scoffed  at  every  mention  of  surrendering  the  records. 


582  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Those  marks  of  county  aulhority  wore  the  property  of 
Ingalls.  What  oared  Cimarron  for  that?  Cimarron 
snapped  tlmmb  and  finger  beneath  the  Ingalls  nose!  It 
scorned  the  election  and  contcnmed  the  result !  If  Ingalls 
wanted  those  records,  Cimarron,  furbishing  up  its  fire- 
arms, would  admire  to  see  it  get  them. 

Florence  in  the  fourteenth  ccntur3^  retained  the  mili- 
tary genius  of  Sir  John  Hawkwood  to  its  standards  and 
set  liim  to  lead  its  armies  in  the  field.  Sir  John,  as 
rental  for  liis  valour,  was  given  a  princely  salary  while 
he  lived  and  a  marble  tomb  when  he  died,  which  latter 
monument  is*  still  extant,  a  Florentine  exhibit  when  tour- 
ists turn  that  wa}^  Impressed  by  the  Italian  example, 
Ingalls  upon  being  met  by  the  belligerent  obstinacy  of 
Cimarron  retained  Mr.  Tighlman.  Would  he  get  those 
records.'^     Mr.  Tighlman  would. 

Mr.  Tighlman  possessed  a  capacity  for  strategy.  He 
went  after  the  records  on  Sunday.  He  argued  that, 
Sunday  being  a  day  of  rest,  the  male  inhabitants  of 
C'imarron  would  one  and  all  be  in  the  saloons.  Mr. 
Tighlman  deduced  rightly  on  that  point,  and  his  rapine 
of  the  records  was  only  discovered  by  chance.  A  Cimar- 
ronian,  journeying  from  one  barroom  to  another,  ob- 
served him  as  he  threw  the  last  volume  into  the  waggon 
and  sounded  an  alarm. 

Within  two  minutes  thereafter,  Mr.  Tighlman  was 


THE  LAST  VISIT  TO  DODGE  383 

shot  at  five  hundred  times.  And  yet  he  j^ot  away  and 
took  tlie  records  with  him.  His  only  injury  was  re- 
ceived when,  H  shot  having  killed  a  doig  at  his  very  feet, 
he  fell  over  tlie  dog  and  broke  his  leg.  For  all  that,  he 
dragged  liimself  aboard  the  waggon  and  escaped. 

Mr.  Tighhnan  covered  liis  retreat  with  a  shotgun.  As 
a  bloodless  method  of  engaging  the  local  faculties,  he 
opened  right  and  left  with  buckshot  on  the  large  front 
windows  that  fenced  the  street.  There  was  a  prodigious 
breaking  of  glass,  and  the  clatter  thereof  carried  Cimar- 
ron almost  to  a  stampede.  As  showing  the  blind  hurry 
of  the  inhabitants,  IMr.  Tighlman  said  that  he  saw  one 
gentleman  miss  his  footing  and  fall,  and  before  he  could 
even  think  of  getting  up  eight  of  his  fellow  tomismen 
fell  on  top  of  him.  It  was  through  such  stirring  scenes 
that  !Mr.  Tighlman  made  his  exit,  and  Jim  gained  men- 
tion because  he  drove  the  waggon.  The  foregoing  has 
nothing  at  all  to  do  with  what  follows,  and  is  thrown  in 
only  because  it  may  serve  as  an  introduction  to  Jim. 

At  what  might  be  called  the  true  beginning  of  this 
sketch,  Mr.  Masterson  was  located  in  Tucson,  nursing  an 
interest  in  mines.  He  liad  been  absent  from  Dodge  divers 
3'ears.  In  the  interim  he  had  made  but  a  single  trip  to 
Dodge,  and  that  a  flying  one.  His  brother  Jim  was  tem- 
porarily in  Camp  Supply  at  the  time,  two  hundred  miles 
to  the  south,  and  he  missed  him.     This,  however,  did 


384  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

not  disturb  Mr.  ]\Iasters()ii,  wlio  was  in  Dud^e  for  the 
commercial  restoratioTi  of  Mr.  Short. 

During  tliose  years  of  IVfr.  IVIasterson's  absence, 
the  luuigry  tooth  of  time  liad  left  its  marks.  Mr. 
Kelly  was  dead,  IMr.  Tighlman  was  in  New  Mexico,  Mr. 
Trask  had  drifted  to  IMontana,  Cimarron  Bill  was  in 
Utah,  while  Mr.  Wright  was  in  Topeka,  a  member  of  the 
Legislature.  Of  those  who  had  been  close  to  Mr.  Mas- 
terson  only  Mr.  Short  remained. 

The  others — who  if  not  enemies  were  but  unfriends — 
had  had  better  luck.  ]Mr.  Peacock  still  ran  the  Dance 
Hall,  while  ■Mr.  Webster  kept  the  Alamo  as  in  days  of 
yore,  and  maintained  under  the  leadership  of  Mr.  T^pde- 
graffe  a  numerous  following. 

Even  in  the  time  of  jNlr.  JNlasterson  there  had  been 
soreness  between  Mr.  Webster  and  Mr.  Sliort.  The 
Long  Branch  was  garnering  a  ham^est  beyond  any  that 
lent  itself  to  the  reaping  hook  of  the  Alamo,  and  this  did 
not  sit  easily  with  INIr.  Webster.  To  be  sure,  Mr.  Sliort's 
success  in  its  causes  was  easily  understood.  His  deal 
boxes,  like  Caesar's  wife,  were  above  reproach.  Folk 
were  never  quite  sure  about  the  Alamo's.  Also  the  radi- 
cal temper  of  Mr.  Short  despised  a  limit.  One  might 
pile  his  stake  as  tall  as  he  pleased,  I\Ir.  Short  would  turn 
for  it.     In  the  w^ords  of  an  admirer: 

"He'd  let  you  play  'em  higher'n  a  cat's  back!" 


THE  LAST  VISIT  TO  DODGE.  385 

This  was  not  tlie  liberal  case  with  Mr.  Webster,  who 
failed  of  the  monetary  courage  of  Mr.  Short. 

In  the  carelessness  of  lix-al  politics  I\Ir.  Webster  be- 
came !Major  of  Dodge,  and  he  at  once  took  advantage 
of  his  power  and  his  elevation  to  exile  Mr.  Short.  With 
the  latter  out  of  town,  the  Alamo  would  fatten  and  the 
Long  Branch  fade. 

Being  exiled,  ]\lr.  Short,  following  a  usual  course, 
hunted  up  I\Ir.  ]\Iasterson,  and  told  his  wrongs.  Ever 
and  alwa3'S  Mr.  Short's  friend,  the  latter  began  a  round- 
up of  the  clan.  The  old  Scotch  Chiefs  burned  a  cross 
and  sent  it  about;  Mr.  Masterson  sent  messages  and 
burned  the  wires. 

From  East  and  West  and  North  and  South,  the  lo^'al 
tribesmen  dropped  grimly  into  Dodge.  There  was 
Cimarron  Bill  and  Wyatt  Earp  and  Doc  Holiday  and 
Ben  Thompson  and  Henry  Brown  and  Charlie  Bassett 
and  Shotgun  Collins  and  Shoot-your-e^'e-out  Jack  and 
many  another  stark  fighting  man.  When  these  had  as- 
sembled, Mr.  Masterson  and  Mr.  Short  appeared,  and 
the  former  took  command. 

There  was  no  trouble;  Mr.  Webster  turned  the  colour 
of  ashes,  and  IMr.  Short  resumed  his  place  in  trade.  Mr. 
Webster  did  not  like  Mr.  Masterson  any  better  for  this 
work,  although  the  latter,  in  adjusting  affairs,  stretched 
a  point  and  went  excessively  out  of  his  way  to  keep  jNIr. 


S8fi  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

Webster  from  being  killed.  Mr.  Mastcrson  s;iid  lie 
wasn't  worth  it.  .Mr.  Short  .said  he  was  ;  but  yielded  the 
point  in  compliment  to  Mr.  Masterson. 

When  Mr.  Short  had  been  restored  to  the  commercial 
niche  that  of  ri<^ht  was  his,  Mr.  Masterson  shook  the 
dust  of  Dodge  from  his  moccasins,  as  he  imagined  for 
the  final  time.  Nor  was  he  sorry.  His  friends  were 
gone;  and  the  Dodge  he  had  known  and  loved  and  de- 
fended liad  passed  away. 

In  the  wake  of  ]Mr.  Masterson's  departure,  Mr.  Web- 
ster saw,  in  the  hard,  gray  glance  of  Mr.  Short,  that 
which  alarmed  his  blood.  Being  wise  in  a  way,  he  nodded 
prudently  to  one  who,  upon  the  hint,  proffered  a  roman- 
tic figure,  and  bought  out  ]\Ir.  Short.  The  latter  went 
to  Texas,  while  Mr.  Webster  again  began  to  sleep  o' 
night.  With  the  going  of  Mi'.  Short,  Jim,  for  any  on 
whom  he  might  rely,  was  left  alone  in  Dodge. 

That  was  the  situation  when  one  Tucson  evening  in 
the  Oriental,  Mr.  Masterson  was  handed  a  telegram. 
He  had  been  hearing  evil  news  all  day  about  his  mines, 
and  thinking  this  a  further  bad  installment  tore  open 
the  envelope  with  only  a  listless  interest.  What  he  read 
stiffened  him.    The  message  said: 

Updegraffe  and  Peacock  are  going  to  kill  Jim.  Come 
at  once.  A. 


THE  LAST  VlSri'  TO  DOOGE  387 

W'iLli  the  stop  at  Dciniug  and  a  sand-storm  raging 
near  Raton,  Mr.  ]Masterson  was  thirty  hours  reaching 
Dodge.  They  were  hours  without  sleep.  The  imagina- 
tion of  ^fr.  iMasterson  raced  ahead  to  Dodge,  and  drew 
him  pictures.  At  Albuquerque  he  feared  flini  was  al- 
ready dead;  at  Las  Vegas  he  entei'tained  no  doubt;  at 
Trinidad  he  knew  it  was  so. 

'"It'll  be  with  Jim  as  it  was  with  Ed,"  sighed  Mr. 
Masterson.    "Fll  come  too  late." 

What  increased  the  depression  of  Mr.  Masterson  was 
the  raw  newness  and  the  youth  of  Jim.  The  threatened 
one  was  gifted,  too,  with  the  recklessness  that  had  be- 
trayed Marshal  Ed.  This,  wnth  his  inexperience,  only 
made  him  the  surer  victim. 

As  against  this  there  w^ould  arise  to  Mr.  Masterson 
the  hopeless  thought  of  Mr.  UpdegrafFe — as  coldly  game 
as  any  who  ever  spread  his  blankets  in  Dodge !  There 
was  none  more  formidable !  Cautious,  resolute,  without 
fear  as  without  scruple,  it  called  for  the  best  name  on 
the  list  when  one  talked  of  matching  Mr.  Updegraff e ! 

IVTr,  Peacock  was  not  so  dangerous.  Still,  even  he 
might  be  expected  to  shoot  an  enemy  who  was  looking  the 
other  way  and  thinking  on  sometliing  else.  At  the  least 
he  made  a  second  gun  to  add  to  Mr.  UpdegrafFe' s,  and 
with  that  invincible  one  for  a  side  partner  and  only  a 
boy  to  face,  Mr.  Peacock  must  be  counted.     These  were 


388  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

the  sorrowful  reflections  of  Mr.  Masterson  when  the 
conductor  passed  through,  crying: 

"Dodge  the  next  stop!     Twenty  minutes  for  lunch!" 

Whether  it  were  the  work  of  the  mysterious  "A"  who 
summoned  Mr.  Masterson,  or  of  some  one  other  than 
that  concealed  individual,  word  had  been  furnished  to 
Mr.  Peacock  and  Mr.  Updegraffe  of  Mr.  Masterson's 
coming.  There  the  pair  stood  waiting  in  the  center  of 
the  grass-green  plaza  of  the  town. 

INIr.  Masterson  saw  them  as  he  stepped  from  the  train ; 
he  never  saw  any  one  else.  Tlus  genius  for  concentra- 
tion is  a  mark  of  the  bom  gun-player.  ]\Ir.  Masterson 
did  not  parley.  His  brother  had  been  slain,  and  here 
before  him  were  his  destroyers.  He  could  feel  the  re- 
venge-hunger seize  him !  Making  straight  for  the  wait- 
ing ones  he  called: 

"You  murderers  might  better  begin  to  fight  right 
now!" 

]Mr.  Updegraffe,  with  all  the  coohiess  of  ice,  fired 
point-blank  at  I\Ir.  INIasterson.  The  shot  was  two  inches 
wide,  and  buried  itself  in  a  Pullman,  At  this,  certain 
tourists  who  had  filled  the  windows  with  their  eager 
faces,  crept  beneath  the  seats. 

Mr.  Masterson,  ignoring  Mr.  Peacock  and  honouring 
Mr.  Updegraffe  as  the  element  perilous,  opened  on  the 
latter.     The  bullet  drove  before  it  a  piece  of  rib,  and 


THE  LAST  VISIT  TO  DODGE  389 

sent  the  splinter  of  bone  through  Mr.  UpdegraftVs 
lungs.  The  death-blindness  upon  liim,  and  never  a  no- 
tion of  what  he  was  about,  he  slowly  walked  a  pace  or 
two,  and  fell  dead. 

As  Mr.  Updegraffe  went  down,  ]\lr.  Peacock,  who  had 
not  fired  a  shot,  took  refuge  behind  a  little  building  that 
stood  in  the  plaza  and  was  both  calaboose  and  Court 
House.  This  discreet  disposition  of  himself  by  Mr.  Pea- 
cock was  doubtless  allowable.  None  the  less  it  smelled  of 
an  unspeakable  meanness,  impossible  to  any  Bayard  of 
the  guns.  Thus  to  take  cover  is  the  caste-mark  of  a 
mongrel. 

So  contemptible  did  this  move  for  safety  seem  to  Mr. 
Masterson  that  he  would  have  walked  away,  lea\ang 
Mr.  Peacock  to  enjoy  his  ignoble  security.  ]Mr.  Pea- 
cock, however,  inched  his  desperate  nose  around  the  cor- 
ner and  fired  on  Mr.  ]Masterson.  The  bullet  broke  a 
third-story  window  one  hundred  yards  away. 

IMr.  iNIasterson's  rancorous  interest  was  rearoused  in 
Mr.  Peacock  by  these  tactics.  When  that  gentleman 
again  protruded  his  nose,  iNIr.  Masterson  shot  twice  at 
that  feature  like  the  ticking  of  a  clock.  The  lead  gut- 
tered the  side  of  the  building  within  an  inch  of  the  target. 
Mr.  Masterson  charged  iVIr.  Peacock,  who  thereupon 
took  to  his  heels,  and  escaped  into  Gallon's,  which  hos- 
telry lay  open  in  his  rear. 


390  THE  SVNSET  TRAIL 

iSIr.  Mastersoii  would  have  followed,  but  it  was  here 
that  Mr.  Webster,  all  a-tremble,  ran  up  with  a  shotgun. 
iVt  this  Mr.  IVIasterson's  eyes  shifted  viciously  to  IVIr. 
Webster.  That  the  latter  was  shaking  as  with  an  ague 
did  not  lessen  Mr.  Masterson's  interest  in  him.  INIr. 
Webster  saw  that  ho  had  attracted  the  whole  of  Mr. 
Masterson's  attention,  and  was  in  no  wise  reassured. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  shotgun,  Web.^"' 
asked  jMr.  INIasterson,  tones  low  and  steady  but  with  a 
deadly  focus  on  i\Ir.  Webster. 

"Well,"  stammered  Mr.  Webster,  "I'm  Mayor,  Bat, 
an'  this  shootin'  's  got  to  stop." 

"I've  been  reckoned  a  judge,"  returned  Mr.  Master- 
son,  coming  closer  to  ]VIr.  Webster,  watching  him  the 
while  with  constant  and  forbidding  ev^e ;  "I've  been  reck- 
oned a  judge,  and  I  should  say  it  had  stopped  unless  you 
begin  it  again," 

"I  shan't  begin  it !"  hastily  asserted  Mr.  Webster. 

"Then  let  me  hold  your  shotg-un,"  returned  Mr.  Mas- 
terson,  voice  iron  and  syrup.  "It  doesn't  become  your 
office." 

And  Mr.  Webster  gave  ^Ir.  Masterson  his  gun. 

What  Mr.  Masterson  next  beheld  was  as  though  he 
saw  a  ghost.  There  across  the  plaza  came  Jim.  Mr. 
Masterson  stared. 

"Aren't  you  dead?"  he  whispered. 


THE  LAST  VISIT  TO  DODGE  391 

"Dead?''  ccJioed  Jim,  in  wide  surprise.  "I  was  aj^leep 
over  in  the  Wright  House  until  your  guns  woke  me 
up!" 

]\lr.  Mastersoii  never  understood;  Jim  never  under- 
stood ;  Dodge  never  understood !  Not  a  soul  came  for- 
ward as  the  "A"  of  that  message  ;  and  tlie  telegraph  man 
said  he  didn't  know ! 

And  yet  it  was  sure  that  Mr.  Updegraffe  and  Mr, 
Peacock  were  in  battle  arra\',  awaiting  Mr.  Masterson. 
Mr.  Peacock  being  guaranteed  a  peace,  came  out  of  Gal- 
lon's and  admitted  this.  He,  too,  displayed  a  message 
signed  "A."  The  Peacock  message  was  from  Tucson. 
It  ran : 

"Masterson  has  just  left  for  Dodge  to  kill  you  and 
Updegraffe.  A." 

The  cloud  was  never  lifted.  The  queries  of  "Who 
sent  them.'"'  and  "Why.^"  remain  to  this  hour  unan- 
swered. 

While  the  puzzle  was  fresh,  and  Mr.  Peacock's  mes- 
sage was  going  from  hand  to  hand,  together  with  tlie  one 
received  by  Mr.  Masterson,  the  latter — all  vigilance  and 
caution — turned  to  Jim. 

"Get  your  blankets,"  was  his  low  command.  "The 
train  will  be  here  in  an  hour,  and  we're  going 
West." 


392  THE  SUNSET  TRAIL 

"We'll  have  to  put  you  under  arrest!"  faltered  Mr. 
Webster. 

An  ominous  shadow  settled  about  Mr.  ]Masterson's 
mouth.  He  opened  Mr.  Webster's  shotgun  i^-ith  mili- 
tant prudence ;  there  were  two  shells  in  it.  Without 
a  word  he  reloaded  the  empty  chambers  of  Iiis  six- 
shooter.  Being  organised,  he  looked  at  Mr.  Webster  and 
shook  his  head. 

"'I  must  take  the  next  train  W^est,"  he  said.  "I  haven't 
time  to-day  to  be  arrested." 

"Only  for  voy latin'  an  ordinance  !"whiningly  explained 
Mr.  Webster,  who  must  do  soinetliing  for  Iiis  honour. 
"Dodge  has  become  a  city  since  you  was  here,  Bat,  an' 
the  fact  is  we  ought  to  line  you  five  dollars  for  shootin' 
inside  th'  limits.  As  for  Updegraffe:  onder  th'  circum- 
stances no  one  tliinks  of  blan^.in'  you  for  downin'  liim." 

"City !"  mused  Mr.  Masterson.  "Five  dollars !  If 
you'll  consider  court  as  held  and  the  fine  imposed,  I'U 
jneld  to  these  metropolitan  exactions,"  and  Mr.  jMaster- 
son  snapped  a  gold-piece  towards  Mr.  Webster.  "And 
now,"  concluded  Mr.  Masterson,  pleasantly,  tossing  the 
shotgun  into  the  hollow  of  his  arm,  "since  I  see  but  few 
familiar  faces,  Web,  I  want  you  to  stay  close  by  my  side 
till  I  leave." 

"Why,  shorely!"  murmured  Mr.  Webster,  whom  the 
suggestion  discouraged. 


THE  LAST  VISIT  TO  DODGE  393 

When  the  train  drew  in,  Mr.  ]\Iasterson  saw  Jim 
aboard.  Taking  the  shells  from  the  shotgun,  he  re- 
turned the  weapon  to  ]\Ir.  Webster. 

"They'd  be  a  temptation  to  you,  Web,"  said  ]\Ir.  Mas- 
terson,  referring  to  the  shells,  "and  only  get  you  into 
trouble.  Like  many  another,  you're  safest  with  an 
empty  gun.    Adios !" 

"Adios !"  repeated  Mr.  Webster,  and  he  watched  the 
train  until  it  died  out  of  sight  in  the  West. 


Popular  Copyriglil  Books 

AT    MODERATE     PRICES 

Any  of  the  following  titles  can  be  bought  of  your 
bookseller  at  50  cents  per  volume. 


The  Shepherd  of  the  Hills.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Jane  Cable.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Abner  Daniel.     By  Will  N.  Harbcn. 

The  Far  Horizon.     By  Lucas  Malet. 

The  Halo.     By  Bellina  von  Hutten. 

Jerry  Junior.    By  Jean  Webster. 

The  Powers  and  Maxine.    By  C.  N.  and  A,  M.  Willia«son, 

The  Balance  of  Power.    By  Arthur  Goodrich. 

Adventures  of  Captain  Kettle.    By  Cutcliffe  Hyne. 

Adventures  of  Gerard.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Adventures  of  Sherlock  Holmes.    Bj^  A.  Conati  Doyle. 

Arms  and  the  Woman.    By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Artemus  Ward's  Works   (extra  illustrated). 

At  the  Mercy  of  Tiberius.     By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Awakening  of  Helena  Richie.     By  Margaret  Deland. 

Battle  Ground,  The.     By  Ellen  Glasgow. 

Belle  of  Bowling  Green,  The.     By  Amelia  E.  Barr. 

Ben  Blair.     By  Will  Lillibridgc. 

Best  Man,  The.    By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Beth  Norvell.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Bob  Hampton  of  Placer.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Bob,  Son  of  Battle.     By  Alfred  Ollivant. 

Brass  Bowl,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Brethren,  The.     By  H.  Rider  Haggard. 

Broken  Lance,  The.     By   Herbert   Quick. 

By  Wit  of  Women.     By  Arthur  W.  Ivlarchmont 

Call  of  the  Blood,  The.    By  Robert  Hitchens. 

Cap'n  Eri.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cardigan.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Car  of  Destiny,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  N.  Williamson. 

Casting  Away  of  Mrs.  Leeks  and  Mrs.  Aleshine.     By  Frank 

R.  Stockton. 
Cecilia's  Lovers.    By  Amelia  E,  Barr. 


Popular  Copyright  Books 

AT    MODERATE    PRICES 

Any  of  the  following  titles  can  be  bought  of  your 
bookseller  at  50  cents  per  volume. 


Circle,  The.     By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston  (author  of  "The 

Masqucradcr,"  "The  Gambler"). 
Colonial  Free  Lance,  A.    By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss. 
Conquest  of  Canaan,  The.    By  Booth  Tarkington. 
Courier  of  Fortune,  A.     By  Arthur  W.  Marchmont. 
Darrow  Enigma,  The.     By  Melvin  Severy. 
Deliverance,  The.     By  Ellen  Glasgow. 
Divine  Fire,  The.     By  I^Iay  Sinclair. 
Empire  Builders.     By  Francis  Lynde. 
Exploits  of  Brigadier  Gerard.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 
Fighting  Chance,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 
For  a  Maiden  Brave.    By  Chaunce^^  C.  Hotchkiss. 

Fugitive  Blacksmith,  The.     By  Chas.   D.  Stewart. 
God's  Good  Man.    By  Marie  Corelli. 
Heart's  Highway,  The.    By  Mary  E.  Wilkins. 
Holladay  Case,  The.    By  Burton  Egbert  Stevenson. 
Hurricane  Island.    By  H.  B.  Marriott  Watson. 
In  Defiance  of  the  King.     By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss, 
Indifference  of  Juliet,  The.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Infelice.     By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Lady  Betty  Across  the  Water.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Will- 
iamson. 
Lady  of  the  Mount,  The.    By  Frederic  S.  I  sham. 
Lane  That  Had  No  Turning,  The.    By  Gilbert  Parker.  ' 

Langford  of  the  Three  Bars.     By  Kate  and  Virgil  D.  Boyles. 
Last  Trail,  The.     By  Zane  Grey. 
Leavenworth  Case,  The.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Lilac  Sunbonnet,  The.     By  S.  R.  Crockett. 
Lin  McLean.    By  Owen  Wister. 
Long  Night,  The.     Ey  Stanley  J.  Weyman. 
Maid  at  Arms,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 


Popular  Copyright  Books 

AT    MODERATE    PRICES 

Any  of  the  following  titles  can  be  bought  of  your 
bookseller  at  50  cents  per  volume. 


Man  from  Red  Keg,  The.     By  Eugene  Thwing. 

Marthon  M5rstery,  The.     By  Burton  Egbert  Stevenson. 

Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Millionaire  Baby,  The.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Missourian,  The.     By  Eugene  P.  Lyle,  Jr. 

Mr.  Barnes,  American.    By  A.  C.  Guntcr. 

Mr.  Pratt.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

My  Friend  the  Chauffeur.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

My  Lady  of  the  North.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Mystery  of  June  13th.     By  Melvin  L.  Severy. 

Mystery  Tales.     By  Edgar  Allan  Poe. 

Nancy  Stair.     By  Elinor  Macartney  Lane. 

Order  No.  11.     By  Caroline  Abbot  Stanley. 

Pam.     By  Bettina  von  Hutten. 

Pam  Decides.     By  Bettina  von  Hutten. 

Partners  of  the  Tide.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Phra  the  Phoenician.     By  Edwin  Lester  Arnold. 

President,  The.     By  Afred  Henry  Lewis. 

Princess  Passes,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Princess  Virginia,  The.     By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Prisoners.    By  Mary  Cholmondeley. 

Private  War,  The.     By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Prodigal  Son,  The.    By  Hall  Caine. 

Quickening,  The.     By  Francis  Lj'nde. 

Richard  the  Brazen.    By  Cyrus  T.  Brady  and  Edw.  Peplc. 

Rose  of  the  World.     By  Agnes  and  Egerton  Castle. 

Running  Water.    By  A.  E.  W.  Mason. 

Sarita  the  Carlist.     By  Arthur  W.  Alarchmont. 

Seats  of  the  Mighty,  The.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Sir  Nigel.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Sir  Richard  Calmady.     By  Lucas  Malet. 

Speckled  Birfl,  A*   By^  Augusta  Evans  Wilson.^ 


Popular  Copyright 

AT    MODERATE    PRICES 

Anj  of  the  following  titles  cao  be  bought  of  your 
bookseller  at  50  cents  per  volume. 


/Purple  Parasol,  The.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 
Princess  Dehra,  The.    By  John  Reed  Scott. 
Making  of  Bobby  Burnit,  The.    By  George  Randolph 
Chester. 

Last  Voyage  of  the  Donna  Isabel,  The.    By  Randall 
Parrish. 

Bronze  Bell,  The.    B3'  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Pole  Baker.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Four  Million,  The.    By  O.  Henry. 

Idols.    By  William  J.  Locke. 

Wayfarers,  The.    By  Mary  Stewart  Cutting. 

Held  for  Orders.    By  Frank  IL  Spearman. 

Story  of  the  Outlaw,  The.    By  Emerson  Hough. 

Mistress  of  Brae  Farm,  The.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

Explorer,  The.    By  William  Somerset  Maugham. 

Abbess  of  Vlaye,  The.    By  Stanley  W^eyman. 

Alton  of  Somasco.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Ancient  Law,  The.    By  Ellen  Glasgow. 

Barrier,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Bar  20.    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Beloved  Vagabond,  The.    By  William  J.  Locke.  j 

Beulah.     (Illustrated  Edition.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans, 

Chaperon,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Colonel  Greatheart.    B3'  H.  C.  Bailey. 

Dissolving  Circle,  The.    By  Will  Lillibridge. 

Elusive  Isabel.    By  Jacques  Futrelle. 

Fair  Moon  of  Bath,  The.     By  Elizabeth  Ellis. 

54-40  or  Fight.    By  Emerson  Hough. 


r 


AT    MODERATE    PRICES 

Any  of  the  following  titles  can  be  bought  of  your 
bookseller  at  50  cents  per  volume. 


Spirit  of  the  Border,  The.     By  Zane  Grey. 

Spoilers,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Squire  Phin.     By  Holnian  F.  Day. 

Stooping  Lady,  The.       By  Maurice  Hewlett. 

Subjection  of  Isabel  Carnaby.  By  Ellen  Thorneycroft  Fowler. 

Sunset  Trail,  The.     By  Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 

Sword  of  the  Old  Frontier,  A.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Tales  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

That  Printer  of  Udell's.     By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Throwback,  The.     By  Alfred  Henr}'  Lewis. 

Trail  of  the  Sword,  The.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Treasure  of  Heaven,  The.     By  Marie  Corelli. 

Two  Vanrevels,  The.     By  Booth  Tarkington. 

Up  From  Slavery.     By  Booker  T.  Washington. 

Vashti.     By  Augusta   Evans   Wilson. 

Viper  of  Milan,  The  (original  edition).     By  Marjorie  Bowen. 

Voice  of  the  People,  The.    By  Ellen  Glasgow. 

"Wheel  of  Life,  The.     By  Ellen  Glasgow. 

When  Wilderness  Was  King.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Where  the  Trail  Divides.    By  Will  Lillibrldge. 

Woman  in  Grey,  A.     By  IVIrs.  C.  N.  Williamson. 

Woman  in  the  Alcove,  The.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Younger  Set,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

The  Weavers.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

The  Little  Brov/n  Jug  at  Kildare.    By  Meredith  Nicholson. 

The  Prisoners  of  Chance.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  Cleve.    By  Percy  J.  Hartley. 

Loaded  Dice.     By  Ellery  H.  Clark. 

Get  Rich  Quick  Wallingford.    By  George  Randolph  Chester. 

The  Orphan.    By  Clarence  IMulford. 

A  Gentleman  of  France,    By  Stanley  J.  Weyman. 


Popular  Copyright  Books 

AT    MODERATE    PRICES 

Any  of  the  following^  titles  can  be  bought  of  your 
bookseller  at  50  cents  per  volume. 


Four  Pool's  Mystery,  The.    By  Jean  Webster. 

Canton  and  Co.    By  Arthur  J.  Eddy. 

Heart  of  Jessy  Laurie,  The.    By  Amelia  E.  Barr. 

Inez.    (Illustrated  Edition.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Into  the  Primitive.    By  Robert  Ames  Bennet. 

Katrina.     By  Roy  Rolfe  Gilson. 

King  Spruce.    By  Holman  Day. 

Macaria.    (Illustrated  Edition.)   By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Meryl.    By  Wm.  Tillinghast  Eldredge. 

Old,  Old  Story,  The.    By  Rosa  Nouchette  Carey. 

Quest  Eternal,  The.    By  Will  Lillibridge. 

Silver  Blade,  The.    By  Charles  E.  Walk. 

St.  Elmo.  (Illustrated  Edition.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Uncle  William.    By  Jennette  Lee. 

Under  the  Red  Robe.    By  Stanley  J.  Weyman. 


Good  Fiction  Worth  Reading. 

i  A  series  of  romances  containing  several  of  the  old  favorites  in  the  field 
of  historical  fiction,  replete  with  powerful  romances  of  love  and  diplomacy 
that  excel  in  thrilling'  and  absorbing  interest. 


'  GUY  KAWKES.  A  Romance  of  the  Gunpowder  Treason,  By  Wm.  Harrl- 
Boa  Ainswortb.  Cloth,  i3mo.  with  four  illustrations  by  George  Cruikshank.. 
Price,  f  i.oo. 

The  "Qunpowder  Plot"  was  a  modest  attempt  to  blow  up  Parliament, 
the  King:  and  his  Counsellors.  James  ot  Scotland,  then  Kins  of  fingland. 
•was  weak-minded  and  extravagant.  He  hit  upon  the  emclent  scheme  of 
extorting  money  from  the  people  by  Imposing  taxes  on  the  Catholics.  It» 
their  natural  resentment  to  this  extortion,  a  handful  of  bold  spirits  con- 
cluded to  overthrow  the  government.  Finally  the  plotters  were  arrested, 
and  the  King  put  to  torture  Guy  Pawkes  and  the  other  prisoners  will* 
royal  vigor.    A  very  Intense  love  story  runs  through  the  entire  romance. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  BORBER.  A  Romance  of  the  Early  Settlers  in  the 
©liio  Valley.  By  Zane  Grey.  Cloth.  i2mo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson. 
Cavls.    Price,  |i .  oo, 

A  book  rather  out  of  the  ordinary  la  this  "Spirit  of  the  Border."  Th« 
snain  thread  of  the  story  has  to  do  with  the  work  of  the  Moravian  mia- 
•ionarles  in  the  Ohio  "Valley.  Incidentally  the  reader  is  given  details  of  tha 
frontier  life  of  those  hardy  pioneers  who  broke  the  wilderness  for  the  plant- 
ing of  this  great  nation.  Chief  among  these,  as  a  matter  of  course,  is 
I^ewls  Wetzel,  one  of  the  most  peculiar,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most 
Admirable  of  all  the  brave  men  who  spent  their  lives  battling  with  the 
aavage  foe,   that  others  might  dwell  in  comparative  security. 

Details  of  the  establishment  and  destruction  of  the  Moravian  "Vlllaga 
of  Peace"  are  given  at  some  length,  and  with  minute  description.  Tha 
efforts  to  Christianize  the  Indians  are  described  as  they  never  have  been 
fcefore,  and  the  author  has  depicted  the  characters  of  the  leaders  of  tha 
several  Indian  tribes  with  great  care,  which  of  itself  will  be  of  interest  td 
the  student. 

By  no  means  least  among  the  charms  of  the  story  are  the  vivfd  word- 
pictures  of  the  thrilling  adventures,  and  the  Intense  paintings  of  the  beau** 
ties  of  nature,   as  seen  in  the  almost  unbroken  forests. 

It  Is  the  spirit  of  the  frontier  which  is  described,  and  one  can  by  it, 
perhaps,  the  better  understand  why  men,  and  women,  too,  willingly  braved, 
every  privation  and  danger  that  the  westward  progress  of  the  star  of  em- 
pire might  be  the  more  certain  and  rapid.  A  love  story,  simple  and  tender,, 
runs  through  the  book. 

RICHELIEU.  A  tale  of  France  in  the  reign  of  King  I,ouis  XIIT.  By  G.  P. 
R.  James.  Cloth,  izmo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  ^i.oo.  , 

I 

In  1829  Mr.  James  published  his  first  romance,  "Richelieu,"  and  was/ 
fecognized  at  once  as  one  of  the  masters  of  the  craft.  > 

In  this  book  he  laid  the  story  during  those  later  days  of  the  great  car- 
dinal's life,  when  his  power  was  beginning  to  wane,  but  while  it  was 
yet  sufficiently  strong  to  peinlt  now  and  then  of  volcanic  outbursts  whicli 
overwhelmed  foes  and  carried  friends  to  the  topmost  wave  of  prosperity. 
One  of  the  most  striking  portions  of  the  story  is  that  of  Cinq  Mar's  conspir- 
acy; the  method  of  conducting  criminal  cases,  and  the  political  trickery- 
resorted  to  by  royal  favorites,  affording  a  better  insight  into  the  state- 
craft of  that  day  than  can  be  had  even  by  an  exhaustive  study  of  history. 
It  is  a  powerful  romance  of  love  and  diplomacy,  and  in  point  of  thrilling 
and  absorbing   Interest  has   never  been   excelled. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the  pub- 
Haters,  A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY,  5a  58  Duaae  St,,  New  York, 


OOOD  FICHQN  WORTH  READING 

A  series  of  romances  containing  several  of  the  old  favor- 
ites in  the  field  of  historical  fiction,  replete  with  powerful 
romances  of  love  and  diplomacy  that  excel  in  thrilling  and 
absorbing  interest. 


THE  LAST  TRAIL.  A  story  of  early  days  in  the  Ohio 
Valley.  By  Zane  Grey.  Cloth,  12mo.  Four  page  illustra- 
tions by  J.  Watson  Davis.     Price,  $1.00. 

"The  Last  Trail"  is  a  story  of  the  border.  The  scene  is  laid  at  Fort 
Henry,  where  Col.  Ebenezer  Zane  with  his  family  have  built  up  a  village 
despite  the  attacks  of  savages  and  renegades.  The  Colonel's  brother  and 
Wstzel,  known  as  Deathwind  by  the  Indians,  are  the  bordermen  who  devote 
their  lives  to  the  welfare  of  the.  white  people.  A  splendid  love  story  runs 
through  the  book. 

That  Helen  Sheppard,  the  heroine,  should  fall  in  love  with  such  a 
brave,  skilful  scout  as  Jonathan  Zane  seems  only  reasonable  after  his  years 
of  association  and  defense  of  the  people  of  the  settlement  from  savages  and 
renegades. 

_  If  one  has  a  liking  for  stories  of  the  trail,  where  the  white  man  matches 
brains  against  savage  cunning,  for  tales  of  ambush  and  constant  striving  for 
the   mastery,   "The   Last   Trail"'   will   be   greatly   to   his   liking. 

THE  KNIGHTS  OF  THE  HORSESHOE.  A  tradition- 
ary tale  of  the  Cocked  Hat  Gentry  in  the  Old  Dominion.  By 
Dr.  Wm.  A.  Caruthers.  Cloth,  12mo.  Four  page  illustra- 
tions by  J.  Watson  Davis.     Price,  $1.00. 

Many  will  hail  with  delight  the  re-publication  of  this  rare  and  justly 
famous  story  of  early  American  colonial  life  and  old-time  Virginian 
hospitality. 

Much  that  is  charmingly  interesting  will  be  found  in  this  tale  that  so 
faithfully  depicts  early  American  colonial  life,  and  also  here  is  found  all 
the  details  of  the  founding  of  the  Tramontane  Order,  around  which  has 
ever  been  such  a  delicious  flavor  of  romance. 

Early  customs,  much  love  making,  plantation  life,  politics,  intrigues,  and 
finally  that  wonderful  march  across  the  mountains  which  resulted  in  the 
discovery  and  conquest  of  the  fair  Valley  of  Virginia.  A  rare  book  fiiled 
with  a  delicious  flavor  of  romance. 

'  BY  BERWEN  BANKS.  A  Romance  of  Welsh  Life.  By 
'Allen  Raine.  Cloth,  12mo.  Four  page  illustrations  by  J. 
iWatson   Davis.     Price   $1.00. 

It  is  a  tender  and  beautiful  romance  of  the  idyllic.  A  charming  picturo 
of  life  in  a  Wef.sh  seaside  village.  It  is  something  of  a  prose-poem,  true, 
tender  and  graceful. 


-  For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of 
price  by  the  publishers,  A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY,  52-58 
Duane  St.,  New  York. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL   BE  ASSESSED    FOR    FAILURE  TO   RETURN 
THIS    BOOK   ON   THE   DATE   DUE.   THE   PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY     AND     TO     $1.00     ON     THE    SEVENTH     DAY 
OVERDUE. 

JUL  28  1S41 

^p«   3  m 

3 

mimmmiom 

APR  1  4 1981 

Uh*\\i  or  i^At  ir   nrDi^ 

UMV.  ut  UnLir.,  DtnrV. 

* 

it^CClR.     »H\Vl2  19( 

i] 

LD21-100m-7,'40 (69368)  . 

RETURN  TO  DpfJ^f"*'"'   "SE 

^°  ■"^^'^  "^OM  ^HICH  BORROWED 

lOAN  DEPT. 


(E3494sl0)94i2A 


.  General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


